


The Façade

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Vacation, and in which both of them are super dense, and pretend they're dating when they're really not, basically all that is glorious and good in a fake relationship AU, in which Greg takes Mycroft to France to meet his family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg's mouth acts before his brain and he tells his mom he's bringing someone on vacation to meet them, he has to think fast and figure out someone willing enough to actually go stay at his parents' in France and pretend to be involved.  There is, of course, one person he wants to ask more than anything.  However, wanting the scenario and then actually BEING in the scenario are two completely different things, and Greg soon realizes he is in way over his head.  And quite possibly falling too hard, too fast, for someone who would never return those feelings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a bit of a long time coming. The idea specifically formed when I was writing my 365 Days of Mystrade fic back in 2014. The Façade ended up being a three-part series of chapters that kind of ran away from me and started to turn into it's entirely own thing. Because I'm such a sucker for fake relationship AUs. So, a year and a half later, here we are!
> 
> I need to send huge amounts of thanks to my two betas, Tumblr users saziikins and godaof221b, for catching my rambles and helping me reform them into something a bit more coherent. I also need to send humongous thanks to Tumblr user iplaytheviolin, who so graciously assisted me in all of the French translations you will be seeing in this fic. You guys are the best and ILU. <3

There was a special kind of irritation reserved for when Greg’s mobile rang the second he stepped inside his flat and shut the door.  He clenched his fists and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and desperately hoping it wasn’t the Yard.  Or Sherlock (though he usually texted, so if it  _ was _ Sherlock, that would be even more concerning).  Pressing his lips in a thin line, he fished the ringing device out of his jacket pocket and groaned a bit at the caller ID.

 

It was his mum.  In a way, that would be worse.  He loved his mum to death, but her favorite topic as of late was one he’d rather not have to talk about  _ again _ .

 

“Lestrade,” he answered, more out of habit than anything.

 

“Salut!” ( _ Hello! _ ) came his mother’s excited voice on the other end.  Greg couldn’t help but smile.  His mum was born in London, but his da was French and they lived in Paris.  So, while his da was the one who was a lot more strict about his children keeping up with speaking French on a regular basis, his mum tended to slip in and out. “Greg,  mon cœur ,  comment vas tu ?” ( _ Greg, my dear, how are you? _ )

 

“ Ç a va,” ( _ Okay, _ ) he returned with an amused chuckle. “Just got home.  Didn’t expect to hear from you today, what brings on this surprise?”

 

Titling his head, he cradled his mobile between his shoulder and cheek, letting his coat fall off and draping it over a nearby chair.  He toed his shoes off and nudged them out of the way, pressing them against the wall, and made his way through to his incredibly tiny kitchen to grab a beer.

 

“Un article  à la une,” ( _ Lead story, _ ) Annabeth responded in a proud, almost singsong tone.  Greg shook his head, grinning, as he dropped down onto his sofa with a sigh. “Front page, my goodness.  Seemed like quite the case.  We are so proud.”

 

“It was rather big,” Greg nodded, sipping his drink and stretching his legs out, crossing his ankles. “Messy.  Too many big heads involved, makes it more difficult to get the job done.  But we did.”

 

“Of course, what with you as head detective,” his mum complimented.

 

Homicide cases involving government officials, even smaller ones like those in the Department of Energy, turned a lot of heads.  It turned even more when it came to light that the Secretary’s son was involved.  Thank Christ the boy had only been missing, and turned up injured but alive, but it had looked grim for a while.  Greg had department heads breathing down his neck, and people from the government stepping in when they really didn’t need to, and the press… Well, the press was nasty enough on a good day, let alone the bad ones.

 

It had been two straight weeks of hell, even after coaxing Sherlock to take a look.  He suspected John had quite a bit to do with it, in the end, but he was grateful.  They’d found the child after two more days, and finally wrapped it up three more after that.  For having been so reluctant, it proved a bit perplexing even for Sherlock (though the detective would never admit it).  Greg could always tell though.  He would get equal parts excited and aggravated when a case attempted to slip by him like this one had.  He’d known Sherlock for about eight years now, so he had a pretty good handle on a lot of the unspoken things.

 

“I’m just glad it’s over,” he sighed, holding the beer in between his knees so he could run his hand through his hair. “It was exhausting.  I need a break.”

 

“This brings us to my second reason for calling, actually,” Annabeth said.  Greg raised his eyebrows a fraction, not surprised by the segway but curious. “I know last week you mentioned having some vacation hours, yes?”

 

“Mmhmm,” Greg confirmed, nodding instinctually.  He picked up his bottle and took another drink. “I sure do.  Hadn’t settled down what I was doing yet, or when, but I’ve got it.”

 

“You should come home, visit for a few days,” she suggested. “We would love to see you.   _ Before _ Christmas.”

 

She kept going, talking about his sister Emily also really wanting to see him, not having been able to get away from work to come to London, and Greg was half listening.  Go visit the family… It wasn’t a bad idea.  It had been a while, and might be the last chance he’d get before Christmas rolled around.  If he didn’t jump on the chance, it would be at least another four months before it would come around again.  He felt like he never got down there enough as it was, and maybe he could sneak into Paris for a day, since he knew they would likely stay in the small town about half an hour out where their old familial home still sat.

 

Yeah, this was a good idea.  He’d start sorting out the timing when he went back to work tomorrow.  It would be nice to see his mum and dad, and Ems… His niece Robyn too.  Definitely.

 

“So are you seeing anyone?” Annabeth’s question cut through Greg’s drifting train of thought.  He sighed and let his head fall back briefly, rubbing at his face as he straightened again.  Here it was.  He was surprised she had gone this long without bringing it up.

 

“Mum,” he groaned.

 

“Gregory Lestrade, I am just a concerned mother,” she said firmly, and he could practically see her glare. “It’s been over two years since you divorced that cheating woman-”

 

“ _ Mum _ ,” he almost snapped, speaking more firmly now himself.  Yeah, Christine cheated.  Yeah, he rather hated her a bit.  But she was still the mother of his children and there was no use in saying harsh words about her.

 

“It’s been two years,” his mother continued. “You work so much.  I know you’ve got Elizabeth and Abby, but… Look, you need love in your life.  Romantic love, darling.  Companionship.  I just want you to be happy.”

 

“I am happy, mum, I’m fine,” he insisted, even though there was something missing.  There was a lack of light around the flat he couldn’t fully ignore.  Still.  He was too busy to try getting back into the dating game.

 

“You need to get out there,” Annabeth said instead of acknowledging his half-false reassurance. “Find someone.  Bring them with you!”

 

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.  It was all she’d been harping on for months; getting him back into dating.  He was so tired of hearing it.  He was exhausted.  He’d do practically anything at this point to get her off his back.

 

“Fine, I’ll bring someone,” he grumbled, his brain not quite catching up to his mouth yet. “Now,   revenons à nos moutons, maman.” ( _ Now, back on topic, mum.) _

 

“Yes yes, fine.  Your visit.  When do you think you could come?” she asked, moving back to their previous topic of conversation.  Greg was relieved; he honestly hadn’t expected her to drop it so quickly.  He wouldn’t complain, though.

 

“I don’t know, dès que mon travail me laissera de la liberté. ( _ As soon as I’ll be free from work _ ) __ Barring any other major homicide cases I should hopefully be able to swing the end of the month,” he answered, thinking on it.  Christine would have the girls still, so he would have the spare time.  Though, he also needed to make sure no one else would be out.  They barely had the manpower as it was, thanks to the bloody budgets being cut yet again.  Maybe one day he’d be allowed to fully staff the division.  Maybe.

 

“Your father is going to despise how rusty your French has gotten,  mon cœur ,” she accused light-heartedly.  Greg laughed.  Oh, he was well aware of that.

 

It wasn’t until well after their phone conversation had ended, and halfway into the Arsenal game he’d thrown on, that Greg realized he had told his mother he was bringing someone with him.  Implying that he had someone he could bring.  Obviously he didn’t have anyone to bring with him.  This meant he had about three weeks to either  _ find _ someone, or make up a good excuse.  Neither option sounded all that great.  He knew who he’d like to bring, but… well… that would never happen.

 

* * *

 

A week before he was set to leave for France, he got a grim reminder of what he had been trying to push off to the side and bury away.

 

**Looking forward to seeing you next week, as well as whoever you are bringing along.  xoxo**

 

He stared at the words on his screen for ages, grimacing.  Of course his mum would not so subtly remind him they expected to meet someone.  Bollocks.  Being that actually finding someone had not at all happened, and the fact that he couldn’t think of anything good to tell them that might actually fly, he couldn’t ignore the dread settling in his gut.

 

He was really not looking forward to four days of guilt tripping from them and more nagging as to why he didn’t attempt to bring anyone.  He wanted to see his family, and he wanted an actual holiday, and that mixture would not provide him with the relaxation he was hoping for.  He had to move on to some kind of Plan C.  But before he did that, he needed to bloody well kick back.  So, licking his lips, he switched over to a different text thread and pondered on his words, before typing out his suggestion.

 

**Free tonight?  I was thinking of dinner, drinks, maybe another round of you kicking my arse at chess.  -G**

 

He was halfway through a batch of paperwork when his phone chimed on the other side of his desk.  Blinking, he dropped his pen and reached across, grabbing it and tilting it forward so he could read the response.  Promptly, he broke out into a grin.

 

**I do have a free evening actually, and that sounds like a lovely way to fill the time.  Why don’t you come to Crusader House later this evening; does 7 sound acceptable?  -MH**

 

Oh yeah, that definitely sounded acceptable.  Greg sent off his reply and dove back into the paperwork with more purpose now.  Nothing was keeping him late today.  He felt a flutter of anticipation at getting to see Mycroft.  Due to work, they hadn’t had time to hang out for around two weeks now, so it would be nice getting to relax with him again.

 

Mycroft had become a very good friend over the course of their acquaintance.  Their meetings had started as strictly professional, always regarding Sherlock and sometimes regarding one of his current cases.  Their paths crossed a lot in that way - the most recent case with the Department of Energy being no exception, even though Mycroft was in Transport, which Greg still called bullshit over.  Surprisingly, after about two years of this, they started slowly having more casual meetings.  Dinner or lunch, or sharing a drink at the Diogenes Club, became more common than meetings over cases.  They became friends.

 

It was the strangest friendship he’d ever had, but it was also one of the best.  He started to see a side of Mycroft that was locked away from the rest of the world.  He had no idea what made him different, or why Mycroft seemed to be so comfortable around him.  He would never complain, though.  In many ways, he had started to know and understand Mycroft better than he did Sherlock.  Naturally, those Holmes brothers were enigmas surrounded in mystery, but they weren’t as difficult to sort out as most everyone seemed to believe.

 

And okay, yeah, maybe he did have a ridiculous crush on Mycroft too.  He’d always been drawn to the man, and not only did he respect him immensely, but he felt a deep affection for him.  It was absurd, and it would never get anywhere, but he couldn’t help but indulge in his attraction every now and again.  The exceptionally R-rated dreams he had never helped either, and if the politician was on his mind when he woke and wrapped a hand around himself, well… that’s just how it was.

 

Glancing at the clock, Greg willed it to go faster.  He was ready to relax and have a few drinks.  With the stress of cases, Sherlock, and his parents’ constant nagging, it was exactly what he needed to get him through until he was in France.

 

* * *

It was with a relieved sigh that Greg shut his mobile off as he approached the main door to Crusader House, glancing along the towering buildings of Pall Mall as he waited to be let in.  He’d told Sally he was off for the night, no exceptions, and he could not be reached until morning.  It was something he rarely did, and something she seemed more than okay to let him do, so he was taking advantage of it.

 

He nodded and smiled at the attendant who let him enter.  The older man looked like no more than a simple butler, but Greg knew there was much more to him than that.  Thankfully, he no longer had to show a badge to be admitted, as they recognized him readily enough.  It was (also thankfully) without an escort that he made his way up the three flights of stairs to the suite Mycroft owned.

 

As he entered and made his way towards the sitting room, he smiled at Mycroft who was stood next to a fireplace.  Pale eyes glanced up and down his form, and wordlessly, he grabbed an empty glass and prepared a drink for him.  Greg chuckled.

 

“Do I look in that bad a need of a drink?” he asked as he made his way over, half teasing.  Mycroft offered him a small smile as he handed it over.

 

“Not necessarily,” he answered, glancing down as their fingers brushed when Greg took the glass. “Just that you have had a long week.  Have a seat, Gregory.  There is lasagne in the oven, but it will be another half hour or so before it is ready.”

 

“You didn’t have to cook, Mycroft,” Greg said as he sat on one end of the dark green sofa facing the fire.  He crossed his ankles loosely and sipped the whiskey, watching as the younger man came and joined him with his own glass. “I was just gonna suggest takeaway.”

 

“It was no trouble, I assure you,” Mycroft said, turning slightly on the sofa so they were actually facing each other.  Their knees were barely an inch away from each other, and it was both comforting and unnerving.  Greg found himself yearning for the touch that never really happened, which was a bit not good since he was not supposed to focus on or deal with his attraction for the man.  It was comforting, though, because it was a usual position they fell into, making it easy to talk.

 

“How was your trip?” Greg asked after a few moments of equally comfortable silence, finally allowing himself to relax and let some of his stress slip away. 

 

“Productive,” Mycroft answered with a tilt of his head. “Cold.”

 

Greg chuckled at the distaste in the man’s voice.  He easily recalled the irritated complaining Mycroft had done before his trip about how cold it was going to be.

 

“Well, it was Russia,” he said, arching an eyebrow and bursting out into an even louder laugh when a very unamused look was turned to him.

 

“What ever would I do without you sitting there and reminding me of these facts I so clearly seem to overlook?” Mycroft asked, his voice monotone as he stared above his glass.  That only made Greg laugh harder.  He leaned forward, clutching at his side and setting his own glass down so he wouldn’t spill it, wiping the tears out of his eyes as he attempted to regain control of himself.

 

“Ah, Christ.  I needed that laugh.  Cheers,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair and straightening again.  Mycroft rolled his eyes and attempted to move their conversation along, though Greg knew it was all in good nature.

 

They fell into their normal discussions as Mycroft asked about Sherlock.  The two of them had begun a whole new way of navigation with the younger Holmes brother, as he and John didn’t seem to be just flatmates anymore.  It wasn’t Greg’s business to pry, though he knew that he’d find out 100% soon enough.  If Sherlock didn’t get fed up and let it out one day, he knew that John would confide in him as a friend before too long.  Didn’t keep him from noticing the way the air around them was different.  He might not have the deductive skills of Sherlock Holmes, but he was one of the Yard’s best Detective Inspectors for a reason.

 

He was happy for them, though admittedly also a bit envious (and maybe that’s where his mum’s nagging wasn’t entirely uncalled for, god help him).  He knew Mycroft knew, and it didn’t surprise Greg that he was concerned about the whole thing.  It brought interesting new topics to their conversations, asking about him and John; Mycroft actually seeming to be interested on Greg’s insight of it all.

 

That moved on to work, as it did naturally.  Somehow, Greg was able to veer it away into football, of all things.  Mycroft was tolerant of the sport for his sake, which was brilliant of him, and in return, Greg made sure not to go on for too long about it.  Luckily, a timer chiming in the kitchen wrapped up his train of thought, and Mycroft smiled as he stood.

 

“I’ll help,” Greg volunteered, standing as well and smiling to himself.  A glass of whiskey down and he felt that relaxed warmth he’d been missing for a bit now. “What can I do?”

 

“If you’d like, you can retrieve the bottle of wine from the chiller in the fridge,” Mycroft suggested as he entered the kitchen and made his way over to the oven.

 

“Chilled wine?” Greg asked, blinking.  They usually drank their wine at room temperature.

 

“A white wine will go better with the lasagne,” Mycroft said in way of explanation.  Greg just nodded and went to fetch it, getting down two wine glasses.  

 

He didn’t know much about wine, but he did recall Mycroft explaining how reds were usually stored at room temperature, while whites were better cold.  Mycroft tended to prefer reds, he’d noticed early on in their friendship, so they usually only had a white wine in a circumstance like this where it fit better with their meal.  It was interesting the random things he had come to learn while being friends with Mycroft that he’d never bothered to think twice about before.

 

Dinner was ridiculously good.  Greg tried to keep his appreciative noises at a minimum so he didn’t sound entirely embarrassing, but it was just  _ so good _ .  They talked little while they ate, focusing on the meal and only exchanging a few words in between, which was fine.  Greg certainly didn’t want to talk with his mouth full, not around Mycroft.  He was too posh to warrant something like that, and would be even more embarrassing than any noises.

 

He insisted on helping with the washing up.  He didn’t feel right getting a free meal without helping in some way.  His parents had been rather strict on him with good manners, especially around meal etiquette, so there was no way he could sit idly by afterward.

 

“Good call,” he said with a smile as they left the kitchen and headed back over to the sofa. “Much better than takeaway any day.”

 

“Hardly compares to your cooking,” Mycroft commented as he carefully carried over the small chess board they had been playing off of the past few visits. “I don’t have as impressive a culinary background as yourself.”

 

Greg shrugged, waving a hand in the air dismissively at the compliment.  Sure, he had been taught by his dad how to cook at an insanely early age.  He also grew up around cooks and bakers, and spent a lot of time in the heart of Paris as a teenager, so he had plenty of cooking experience and he loved to do it.  Even still, he wasn’t and never would be anything like Pierre Lestrade.

 

“Speaking of,” he commented as Mycroft settled across from him and poured two fresh glasses of whiskey. “I’ll be up in France next week.”

 

“Oh?” Mycroft asked, eyebrows raising in interest as he handed over the drink.  

 

“Ta,” Greg nodded as he took it. “Yup.  Mum finally pestered me into using holiday time.”

 

“Not an unwise decision,” the younger man said, turning his gaze to the board and most likely working out not only his first move, but the five following it as well. “You have been overworking yourself.  Deny it all you like, Gregory, but you are rather exhausted.”

 

Greg shrugged, sipping the alcohol as he watched Mycroft make his play.  Maybe he was.  It wasn’t unusual of him, though.  He might not be sleeping well, sure, but he made up for it by getting results.  With and without Sherlock, their division’s record was very impressive, and he took a lot of pride in that.  Besides, he couldn’t sit idly by; he never had.  That’s what had drawn him to policing in the first place.  He cared.

 

“Yeah, well, dunno how much relaxing I’ll get to do,” he admitted, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he tried planning his own move.  He was still learning the game, which didn’t mix well when someone has had two glasses of wine and a glass and a half of whiskey.  He wasn’t drunk, but he was well on his way to being so if he drank much more.

 

“Oh?” Mycroft asked curiously, watching him now instead of the board between them.  Greg sighed, setting his glass down and staring at the amber liquid as it rocked back and forth.

 

“They’re driving me mental,” he admitted, pressing his lips together. “They keep pestering me about getting involved with someone.”

 

The expression Mycroft adopted was almost comical.  His eyebrows rose even higher, if you could believe it, and his lips parted.  The expression only lingered for a moment before it shifted into sarcastic amusement.

 

“Oh hush,” Greg glared.

 

“I didn’t say a thing, Gregory,” Mycroft smirked.

 

“Yeah, well, you were thinking it,” he challenged, lifting his chin. “You can’t sneak things past me as well as everyone else, Holmes.”

 

“Something that still surprises me, I can assure you,” the younger man conceded, leaning back in his seat and bringing his whiskey glass up to his lips.  Greg snorted. “So, your parents are inquiring on the status of your intimate life?”

 

“Yep,” Greg nodded, chewing on his bottom lip as he finally picked up and moved one of his pawns.  The split-second shine in Mycroft’s eyes told Greg he’d picked a poor move, but whatever.  If he ever played chess against Mycroft trying to win, it would be quite a disappointment and a failure. 

 

“They’re insisting I get out there, dive back into things,” he continued as he leaned back as well, taking another drink of his own whiskey. “Keep telling me to get out of the house.  They’re worried about me.  Apparently being a full time DI and a full time father isn’t enough to keep me going.”

 

Mycroft just hummed, watching him curiously without speaking.  He had never met Greg’s girls, and Greg wasn’t jumping at the chance to ask.  The elder Holmes didn’t seem like one to deal with children, and besides, they were only friends.  Bit weird if Greg was bringing them ‘round a lot or something.

 

“You disagree,” he commented finally, eyes roaming Greg’s face as he looked for the unspoken answers. 

 

“Just don’t have time,” he sighed, shrugging. “I don’t want to spend my downtime going to clubs or out to dinner with a group of people.  I sure as hell don’t wanna get set up on blind dates.  I’m just… I dunno.  I feel like I’m getting too old for all that.  If someone comes along, then they come along, but I don’t feel like chasing it down.”

 

“So you explained that to them?” Mycroft asked.  

 

“Well…” he started, pressing his lips together hesitantly, and that made it pretty clear already what the answer was.  He sighed and downed the rest of his drink, setting the glass down with a clink.. “They expect me to bring someone.  Kinda… kinda told them I would.  Because I’m an idiot.”

 

“Interesting.” Mycroft smirked.  Greg gave him a look.

 

“Yeah, I know I dug myself into this hole,” he glared. “Gotta lie in it.  Unless I find someone that will go with me in four days.  Parents don’t need to know that I’m not actually involved with them.”

 

“That is a possible avenue,” Mycroft agreed, nodding. “Though the ruse would only be a temporary fix, you know.”

 

“S’fine,” he shrugged. “Not worrying about the long term.  Just wanna get through the trip.  I’d take anyone.  Fancy a trip to France, Mycroft?”

 

He grinned, chuckling a bit at the playful half invitation.  It died off, though, as he realized that a big part of him hadn’t really been joking.  Mycroft apparently realized it before he did, because while the look he received was amused, it was also serious.  He never knew how Mycroft did it.  A thick silence fell between them that had Greg shifting nervously in his seat.  

 

Take Mycroft to meet his parents?  Have Mycroft be his fake boyfriend for about a week?  Bloody hell.  It would be weird.  But… he wouldn’t mind it.  They were comfortable around each other; they were good friends.  Not that this was a normal friend request, but…

 

“You want me to come with you to stay at your parents and pretend to be your partner?” Mycroft summarized, more putting it into words than actually asking.  Greg swallowed and managed a shrug.

 

“I mean… s’not a bad idea,” he admitted, glancing down at his hands for a moment. “We get on well enough and everything.  If you… I mean, it’s short notice.  Forget I said anything, it’s cool.”

 

“No, Gregory, it’s fine,” Mycroft said as Greg moved to stand.  He froze, blinking.  Was that just the alcohol?  Was he so tipsy he misheard?  He glanced over and stared at Mycroft.

 

“You…?” he started to task, tilting his head.

 

“Anthea can rearrange my schedule,” Mycroft was saying. “I’ve been meaning to get out of London for a few days myself regardless.  Your company would not be a bad way to do so.”

 

“But… pretending to be my boyfriend…”

 

“A minor detail.”

  
Greg snorted.   _ A minor detail indeed _ .  Right.  Well, the night had taken an unexpected turn.  Granted, he now had a solution to his stressful issue and maybe he’d have a better trip now.  He’d been incredibly surprised that Mycroft agreed to something as insane as this, and he couldn’t quite decide what to make of it.  It was done, though, and he cleared his throat with a nod and a smile before making his next move on the board.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to iplaytheviolin for the French translations. And thanks to saziikins and godaof221b for being my betas. :D

In all his contemplation and analysing throughout the rest of the week, Mycroft still could not come up with a reason that accurately reflected why he was currently in a vehicle with Greg Lestrade, on the way to his familial home for four days.  The benefit of the trip was that it got him out of a meeting with the Prime Minister he had honestly been dreading, leaving it in the very capable hands of Anthea to conduct without him.  Overall, his scheduled had been surprisingly easy to clear out so he could travel to France for a few days.  He would not be completely devoid of work, of course, with a few conference calls scheduled over the weekend and documents being emailed to him to look over this very moment, but it was as close to a miniature holiday as his position would allow.

 

Perhaps it was his aggravation that had him agreeing to a short break.  It also could have been the mixture of wine and whiskey he had been drinking that evening.  Whatever the combination was, when Greg proposed taking this trip with him, even under the pretense that they were dating, Mycroft had hardly hesitated.

 

It was puzzling.  The older man was a constant source of bewilderment to him, and this clearly was no different.  Pretending to be dating a man you were not, in front of his own family, was a bizarre situation.  He normally would never agree to such a ruse.  Yet he had.  Deep down, he knew why Greg was the exception, but it was not something he let his mind linger on.  Silently, he glanced across the car, watching Greg’s profile as the man drove through France, then turned back to his phone before he could take notice.

 

“We won’t do anything too involved,” Greg was assuring him, for what was not the first time.  Mycroft’s mouth twitched in amusement.  He was nervous and not doing a very good job at hiding it.

 

“You needn’t worry,” Mycroft commented, scrolling through his emails as he relaxed into the seat.

 

“I’m not worried,” Greg scoffed.  It earned him a knowing, pointed look that he didn’t pay attention do as he turned down a side road.

 

“Everything about you speaks evidence to the contrary,” he said, thumbs typing out a quick reply to Anthea. “Take a deep breath, yes?  If your parents are half as sharp as I have gathered from your accounts alone, they will clearly catch on if you remain so tense.  You’re on holiday, all of this is secondary.”

 

He listened as Greg let out a slow breath, and saw out of the corner of his eye as his grip on the steering wheel loosened some.  Much better.  Choosing not to comment again, Mycroft switched over to his calendar and spent the next little bit coordinating his schedule and verifying the meetings he would have to call in for.  

 

He also found himself reflecting on the situation he had gotten himself into.  Greg was indeed a good friend.  That much was clear with what they were doing.  Mycroft had come to respect and care for him in a way he had with no other.  He genuinely valued the time they spent together, and enjoyed Greg’s company immensely.  The Detective Inspector brought a calm with him, one that Mycroft could easily let wash over him and allow him to relax.

 

For the first time in a long time, he could be himself around someone.  That was a dangerous thing, he was well aware.  He did not do sentiment, finding it difficult enough to control when it came to Sherlock.  Sentiment for his brother had gotten him into many compromising situations before that he dared not repeat ever again.  It was a weakness that he had worked most of his adult life to eradicating.  It was a weakness he could not afford.

 

Mycroft had only ever intended to conduct a professional, working relationship with Greg Lestrade.  It made sense, because in many ways, their lines of work intersected with one another.  That situation was only magnified ten fold when Sherlock became the older man’s acquaintance.  It was out of curiosity and concern that he introduced himself to Greg in the first place, and a continuation of those where Sherlock came into play that caused their association to continue.

 

When things had shifted to something a bit more sociable, Mycroft couldn’t quite say.  Sure, he could recall the exact date and situation that spurred their casual meeting, where they ended up discussing literature and museums in London instead of the current case that caused Mycroft to contact the man in the first place.  However, the shift was not that night.  Somehow, he had already grown comfortable in Greg’s presence, or he would not have allowed the conversation to stray to begin with.

 

He had vowed after that meeting to never allow it again.  Yet, here they were, eight years later and Mycroft was going to meet the man’s  _ parents _ and pretend to be involved with him, for heaven's sake.  He could no longer deny he carried sentiment for Greg as well.  He valued his friendship and company greatly.  It was something he had stopped attempting to fight for quite some time.  At times, he found himself wanting more.  It was a desire he shut down as quickly as he was able, even if it fought against him more than others.  Greg’s friendship he had come to comfortably accept, but the more magnetic desire to touch him and be wrapped in his presence was something Mycroft refused to legitimately entertain.  

 

Yet still, the situations they found themselves in were incredibly interesting.  This one was guaranteed to be the most interesting one yet.

 

* * *

 

Greg was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, unable to keep from fidgeting as his family’s home came into view.  He was glad that Mycroft seemed confident in everything that was in store for them the next few days, because he certainly wasn’t.  Maybe if he didn’t have hidden feelings for the man, he wouldn’t be so nervous about the farce they were going to have to keep up.  Not that he would ever tell Mycroft that, though.

 

The house was just as lovely as he remembered it.  Two stories tall, it loomed over the farmland that had been unused for a few decades now.  The sides of the house was a pale yellow, and while it had been renovated a few times over the years, still had a lot of the original stones within the structure.  All the windows were fitted with white shutters and outlines, a few of the second-story ones still complete with flower boxes.  The roof was dark, contrasting elegantly from the rest of the bright house.  From the front door, there were two sets of stone stairs that led down to a walkway, looping around the house from the driveway they were just now pulling into.  Greg couldn’t help but smile.  He had spent a fair amount of his childhood here.

 

“Goodness, it’s beautiful,” Mycroft remarked beside him.

 

“Isn’t it, though?” Greg agreed proudly, heart pounding.

 

“Seems a bit much for just your parents, though.”

 

“Nah, they don’t live here permanently anymore,” Greg said, glancing over at the younger man for a moment. “This is their résidence secondaire now.  After going back and forth between here and London, and then all us kids moving out, you’re right, it became too much for them.  So they found a smaller home that’s actually in Paris, close to the shoppe my da runs.  They couldn’t bear to part with this one, though, so we all come here when we’re staying for longer periods of time.”

 

“Ah, yes, that makes sense,” Mycroft nodded, musing over it all. “I know it is common for families to have a secondary place of lodging for the purpose of holidays.  I’ll be honest, though, I had not considered that being the case the entire trip up here.”

 

“Quite all right,” Greg laughed softly as he parked right outside the garage door. “It’s not something I had thought to mention anyway.  It’s nothing fancy compared to others that you could go find, but this is my childhood home, so I’m a bit biased towards it.”

 

“Understandably so,” Mycroft nodded, unbuckling his seat belt.  Greg had yet to undo his, hands still gripping the steering wheel.  It was now or never.  He took a deep breath and let his shoulders droop as he exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment and nodding.

 

“Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”

 

Greg climbed out of the car, seeing the movement as Mycroft followed suit.  He circled around back to open the boot and pull out their luggage.  Neither of them had much, one suitcase and a carrier bag each.  They were only staying a few days, and neither one of them were really much for overpacking.  Greg had been pleasantly surprised to see that Mycroft was like him in that regard.  With the man always wearing three-piece suits, he had wondered.  

 

He hooked his bag over his shoulder, pulling things out and handing them over to Mycroft, who stood beside him.  As they were unloading, the front door of the house opened and a woman emerged from inside, arms crossed over her chest.  Greg could see her beaming from there.  He chuckled.

 

“No going back, Mycroft,” he muttered under his breath, raising his eyebrows.   Mycroft chuckled and tilted his head, gesturing for Greg to lead the way.

 

“Greg!!” Annabeth Lestrade shouted, beaming with outstretched arms as they approached.  Greg grinned back, climbing the steps and letting go of his suitcase so he could hug her tightly.

 

“Good to see you, mum,” he said softly, kissing her on the cheek.  He kept the hug up for a moment longer before finally stepping back.

 

“And you, dear,” she smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek like he wasn’t almost in his fifties. “And finally not alone.  Please remember your manners and introduce me to this handsome young man you have brought along.”

 

Greg huffed out a chuckle, hoping to keep the nervous panic off his face.  He turned at the waist a bit, motioning at Mycroft, who was standing patiently a few steps down.  He tilted his head in acknowledgement, before stepping forward and smiling politely, extending his hand to shake with the shorter woman.  She gave off a very open, matronly impression, her dark brown hair pulled back in a loose bun, brown eyes bright.  It was easy to see where Greg got his looks from, that was for sure.

 

“A pleasure to meet you,” he greeted.  Greg reached over and placed his hand on the small of his back, noticing how those pale eyes shifted his direction for a brief moment before turning back to his mother. “Mycroft Holmes.  I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you, Mrs. Lestrade.”

 

“Oh please, dear, call me Annabeth,” she requested, waving a hand in front of her casually.  “I only wish I could return that courtesy.  My stubborn son has been rather tight-lipped about you, I am ashamed to say.  Much to my frustration, of course.”

 

“Well, you know how he can be,” Mycroft said, surprisingly playful.  Greg’s mouth dropped open.

 

“Oi!” he huffed, retracting his hand and grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “We  _ just _ got here.  How about you wait until we’re properly settled in before you start ganging up against me, huh?”

 

“Well, I trust you boys had a good trip?” Annabeth asked, turning and waving them into the house.

 

“Yes, mum,” Greg said with a smile, letting Mycroft enter before him and pulling the door closed once they were all inside.  Of course she was calling them boys like they weren’t both over forty.

 

“I was just about to put the kettle on - do you like earl grey, Mycroft dear?” Annabeth asked, glancing over her shoulder.

 

“Earl grey is more than fine,” Mycroft nodded.

 

“Good, good,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Greg, go on and take him up to your room so you can drop off your luggage.  Come down to the kitchen whenever you’re ready.  I’m eager to get to know Mycroft better!”

 

“C’mon,” Greg prompted softly as his mother walked down the hall and disappeared into the kitchen.  He sighed to himself, leading Mycroft up the nearby staircase, listening as the other man followed him up.  As they approached his room, he began to wonder what their sleeping arrangements would be like.  That wasn’t one of the things he had thought through…  _ Of course _ they would be in the same bedroom.  He desperately hoped Mycroft wouldn’t be bothered by that.

 

He elbowed the door open and walked in quietly, flicking on the lightswitch.  He shut the door behind them to allow for privacy, before wandering over to his old dresser and setting his suitcase down.  He ran a hand through his hair nervously, turning and watching as Mycroft found a place against the wall to put his luggage for now.  His face was neutral as always, so Greg couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking.

 

“So this is your childhood bedroom?” Mycroft asked, eyes scanning the furniture and walls.  Greg blinked, also looking around.

 

“Yeah, hasn’t changed much,” he admitted, glancing at the football and music posters still tacked on the wall, and inwardly groaning at the pictures and trophies on the dresser.  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, smiling sympathetically as Mycroft walked a bit closer to the bed. “Sorry… She, ah, must have assumed that we would…”

 

“ _ Gregory _ ,” Mycroft admonished. “Do stop apologizing.  You know I don’t enjoy repeating myself very often, and as I have said more than once on the trip alone, I was well aware of all these possibilities when I agreed to take this trip with you.  She assumes us to be a couple, this is a natural reaction to that.  The way your family conducts itself during these next few days is all natural responses to the information they have been given.”

 

“Yeah,” Greg nodded, exhaling a bit.  He wandered over and sat down on the edge of his bed, threading his fingers together on his lap and staring at them. “I won’t be able to thank you enough for this.”

 

Mycroft made a noncommittal hum in response, and Greg turned to look up at him.  They were a lot closer than he had realized, and he blinked before gazing around the room.  He didn’t think he would ever be able to truly realize what Mycroft was thinking about the situations he was currently in.  He was too good at masking his true self, and Greg never knew if he was looking at the real Mycroft or not.  He suspected that he saw that Mycroft more than most people; at least he hoped so.  They were close enough…

 

Distracting that train of thought, he focused on their sleeping arrangements.  He had to figure out the best way to go about it all.  Of course he’d sleep on the floor.  There should still be plenty of sleeping bags and blankets in his closet that he could make due.  Mycroft was doing him a huge favor, and for that, the man should most certainly have the bed over the next few nights.

 

“Gregory, this is your familial home,” Mycroft said out of the blue.  Greg jumped and looked at him again.  The knowing look Mycroft was giving him sent a shiver down his spine.  Somehow he could still never get used to that bloody mind reading thing those Holmeses could do. “You should not be entertaining the idea of sleeping on the floor.  We are going to be here for close to a week, and such a decision would bear painful consequences on your back.”

 

“Mycroft, I just…” Greg started, a bit baffled that the man’s reasoning instantly went to his comfort.  Greg hardly liked to admit he had back problems, because it was yet another frustrating sign he was just getting older, but…

 

“I can sleep on the floor.”

 

Greg’s jaw almost dropped to the floor.  He blinked, caught completely by surprise.  Never in his life would he have expected to hear Mycroft offer such a thing.  He shook his head almost instantly.

 

“No way,” he denied firmly. “No bloody way.  You’re doing this whole thing as a favor to me.  There is no way in hell I’m letting  **you** sleep on the floor.  We’ll… both just have to take the bed, I suppose.”

 

They’d fallen asleep on a sofa together before after a long night and a bit too much wine.  They’d never shared a bed, though.  That was approaching a rather intimate position he’d barely allowed himself to imagine, as much as he found he wanted to sometimes.  He glanced over his shoulder and stared at his old bed.  It would only be a few days, and the bed wasn’t terribly small.  It should be perfectly fine.

 

So why did it feel like his chest was on fire?

 

“Yes, I suppose that is the most logical choice for either of us,” Mycroft commented, thankfully distracting Greg from the panic flaring up inside of him.  He was honestly overthinking things.  It would be fine.  He offered Mycroft a small smile and stood, clearing his throat.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, waving his hands back and forth briefly before clapping them together. “Right.  Gonna use the loo, it’s just right across the hall.  Feel free to unpack whatever you need and then we’ll head downstairs.”

 

Mycroft nodded.  Greg glanced at him for a moment longer before squaring his shoulders and walking out of the room.  As he shut the door to the bathroom, he exhaled shakily and stared at himself in the mirror, before cupping his hands and splashing water on his face.  He could do this.  This was his insane idea in the first place.  He could do this.

 

* * *

 

Alone, Mycroft exhaled through his nose and allowed his shoulders to fall slightly.  He turned to stare at the bed next to him.  It was smaller than his own, and while they wouldn’t quite be cramped up against each other, they would be at close quarters.  There was no other option, however.  It would seem suspicious if Mycroft attempted to find other accommodations.

 

He reached out and pressed a hand flat on the mattress.  It certainly seemed comfortable.  He scanned across the surface of the bed, running his hand across the duvet and taking it in.  This was likely one of the beds Greg slept in for the majority of the time he lived here.  At least, through his teenage years.  Surely he’d outgrown a smaller bed from his young childhood, as was common.  Even still.  It was clearly an old, though well-kept, bed.

 

He took a moment to walk around the room, taking a closer look at the items decorating the walls and furniture.  The dresser was littered with football trophies, which made Mycroft’s mouth twitch in a slight smile.  He knew Greg had a passion for the sport, and it was clear he had been playing as a hobby for a long time, but he’d never talked about the extent of his achievements in the sport.  It almost made Mycroft wonder why he did not attempt to go professional.  The items here all pointed to that avenue being a real possibility.

 

His eyes widened as he got to the photos.  Leaning in, he took a look at the different faces that were all Greg Lestrade.  There was a big group photo of a bunch of children in uniforms, which clearly was the team that he won so much with.  Next to it was a picture of Greg on his own, though in a different uniform.  Mycroft picked it up and held it in both hands, looking at the boy (who couldn’t have been older than ten) that was beaming back at him.  He was covered in dirt and grass, black hair sticking up at bizarre angles.  There was a ball tucked under his arm that was just as dirty as he was.  It had clearly been taken right after a game.

 

Mycroft’s gaze softened a bit.  The face looking at him was decades younger than the man he now knew, but there was no mistaking they were one of the same.  There were two distinct things that remained unchanged.  First was that ridiculously bright smile, one that made it difficult for anyone else not to smile as well after seeing it.  The other was those deep brown eyes, shining gleefully.  Optimism and pure, untainted joy radiated from him, even in this picture.

 

Putting that down, he kept looking through until he came across another one that he had to pick up.  His eyes widened as he brought it closer, lips parting slightly.  Greg was older in this photo, likely seventeen or eighteen.  He looked much more like the man he was now, without the distinguished lines of age.  Mycroft swallowed, his mouth going dry at the sight.

 

He was clad in tight jeans, ripped at the knees, and what was most likely a tank top underneath a very flattering leather jacket.  He wore leather boots, his hair spiked and what had to be a faint trace of eyeliner around his eyes.  He was leaning against a glistening black, chrome, and red motorcycle.  Now, instead of a football tucked under his arm, there was a black riding helmet.  On his face was still that bright grin.  It was… 

 

“Ah, found embarrassing photos of me as a lad, huh?” came Greg’s voice, amused.  Mycroft jumped, trying to remain calm as he put the frame back on the dresser and turned.  He swallowed slightly, doing everything in his power to not look as flustered as he felt.  The older man was regarding him with an open, amused expression as he walked across the bedroom.

 

“I would hardly call them embarrassing,” he managed to say after a moment. “It is all quite flattering, in fact.  Impressive.”

 

“Is that so?” Greg asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft hummed, nodding. “I must admit, I did not expect to see so many boastful trophies.  I believe there are some stories in all of that.”

 

“There might be,” Greg confirmed, smirking.  He crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “What, can’t deduce it?”

 

“Oh I can,” Mycroft shot back, eyes slanting challengingly. “However, like most of your stories, I believe I would prefer to hear them from you instead.”

 

“Mmm, well, perhaps after some wine I will concede.”

 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow a fraction, but said nothing.  Greg’s body language was very contradictory and it was puzzling.  The smirk that went along with his statement suggested his challenging, playful tone that often revealed itself as they were having a few drinks and he decided to try and best Mycroft in something (and always failed, unless football got involved).  However, the way he held his shoulders suggested tension, and the slight distance in his usually incredibly warm eyes meant other things were on his mind, and they were troubling him.  At first Mycroft leant it to the fact that they were with his family, but Greg had always seemed to have a much more comfortable, loving relationship with his parents than Mycroft could imagine having with his own (much to his parents’ disappointment, he was sure).  So, that conclusion did not make the most sense.  So what?

 

“Well, are you settled?” Greg asked after a moment, pulling Mycroft out of his deductions. “Mum might send a search party or make lewd comments if we stay up here much longer.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Mycroft nodded, mouth twitching slightly. “I can finish later this evening.”

 

In truth, he had been so distracted by everything in the room that Mycroft hadn’t unpacked a single thing.  He wasn’t about to tell Greg that, though.  So, with one quick glance at where he’d set his luggage, he strode across the room and followed Greg back downstairs and through the house.

 

* * *

 

“So, how did you two meet?” Annabeth asked, leaning her elbows on the island in the middle of the large kitchen after the three of them had sat down with their tea.  Greg had been nervous the second they walked downstairs, but either he was doing a really good job at hiding it or his mother wasn’t overly concerned about it.  He and Mycroft were sat on chairs next to one another, elbows brushing occasionally when one of them moved.  Mycroft didn’t seem affected, but Greg had to remember every single time not to pull away and apologize.  They were supposed to be dating, casual touches like that needed to look common.

 

“Work,” he answered with a sideways glance at Mycroft.  The younger man sipped his tea and lifted his eyebrows, clearing giving Greg the okay to lead this conversation.

 

“Oh, Mycroft, do you work for the Yard as well?” his mum asked.  Greg bit his lip to keep from snorting in laughter. 

 

“No, Mrs. Lestrade,” Mycroft said politely, shaking his head. “I work for the Department of Transport, actually.  However, our paths will occasionally cross on a professional level depending on the type of case that would fall into Gregory’s lap.  However, our particular meeting was actually due to my little brother.”

 

“I thought your surname sounded familiar,” she mused for a moment. “Of course, how silly of me.  So you’re Sherlock Holmes’ brother?”

 

“That I am,” Mycroft confirmed.  Greg stared down at his tea.

 

“He seems quite amazing, from what I hear from Greg and see in the papers,” she continued.  Greg chuckled.  If only she knew the half of it.  He glanced over just in time to see surprise briefly flick across Mycroft’s face, before fading into a slightly more genuine smile.  It made his insides flutter.

 

“He is a great many things,” the younger man said as he brought his teacup to his lips.  Greg held back another snort, hearing the sarcasm in Mycroft’s voice he knew his mum wouldn’t detect.

 

“So, Department of Transport?  Have you worked for the government long?”

 

“Ah, mum,” Greg interrupted, a small alarm going off in his head.  The least amount of focus on Mycroft’s job the best, and he didn’t need the other man telling him so. “D’you really have to sit here and interrogate him?  Ease up a little, yeah?”

 

“I am sorry, dear, but I wouldn’t be so curious if you had ever talked about him,” Annabeth commented, giving him a motherly glare. “Honestly, Mycroft, I must apologize for my son.  He has never told me a single thing about you.  You must think I am some nosy, gossipping old lady.”

 

“Not at all, Mrs. Lestrade,” Mycroft smiled. “I know Gregory isn’t always one to volunteer information about his life, so it all makes perfect sense.”

 

“Yes, he’s always been like that, even as a child,” Annabeth sighed softly, smiling. “Which was a welcome break, mind, because his older brother Russell was awful,  _ just awful _ about saying whatever was on his mind or in his life.  As a mother that is a scary thing, wondering what on Earth your small boy is telling strangers.  Embarrassing too, at times.  So Greg was a bit of a blessing in that sense.  Now it’s more of a curse.”

 

“Oi,” Greg complained, leaning back in his chair and slumping a bit, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The movement made his knee bump into Mycroft’s, and his heart skipped a beat at the brief warmth against his leg.  He glanced between them, gazing at his jean-clad leg next to Mycroft’s suit trouser-clad one and swallowed.

 

He glanced up, realizing there was no way Mycroft hadn’t noticed his gaze, but was instantly distracted as another body entered the room.  He straightened immediately, both hands back on his tea cup, as he watched his father walk across the room and pour himself a cuppa as well.

 

Pierre Lestrade was a man that commanded attention when he walked in the room.  He was tall and always held his head high, with a piercing gaze that would pin anyone to the wall.  Greg couldn’t remember a time where that wasn’t the case.  He had been a great da, but he had been strict.  The expectations he’d put on each of his children weren’t absurd though, and while a lot of them had been frustrating at the time, Greg had grown to appreciate all of them.  However, no matter what, he always felt like a little boy again around his father.  Even now, with hair completely gray and turning white, he was still as intimidating as ever.

 

“Gregory, c'est bon de te voir,” ( _ Gregory, it is good to see you _ ) Pierre said, his deep voice breaking the brief silence that had fallen in the kitchen.  Greg couldn’t look anywhere but directly at him.

 

“C'est bon de te voir aussi, papa,” ( _ It’s good to see you too, dad _ ) he said in return, automatically worried his French wasn’t up to par anymore.  He knew it would be commented on regardless.  Even still, he hoped this time it would slide. “Comment vas la pâtisserie?” ( _ How is the bakery?) _

 

“Tout se passe bien, l'affaire tourne à un bon rythme.” ( _ It is running as smoothly as always. _ ) Pierre paused, blowing gently on his drink before taking a sip.  He made a face - earl grey had never been his favorite - but continued to drink it anyway. “Ta sœur nous aide beaucoup. Je suis très fier d'elle, elle à bien progressé. Elle atteint presque ton niveau en cuisine dorénavant.” ( _ Your sister helps out a lot now.  I am very proud of her.  She has almost as much skill as you in the kitchen now. _ )

 

“Oui, je me souviens qu’elle m’en à parlé la dernière fois que je l'ai u au téléphone,” ( _ Yeah, I remember her mentioning that last time we talked, _ ) Greg recalled, smiling at the compliment.

 

“Alors, voila celui que tu viens nous présenter?” ( _ This is your young man? _ ) Pierre asked, abandoning the casual topics and going straight to the point.  Greg swallowed, finally risking a glance at Mycroft.  He had been hoping to put that off a little longer.  Mycroft just gazed back at him patiently.  He nodded.

 

“Oui monsieur,” ( _Yes, sir,_ ) he answered, barely resisting the sudden urge to wrap an arm around Mycroft’s waist.  He had no clue where that had come from.

 

“You two stop it,” Annabeth fussed, sighing and gently swatting her husband’s arm. “It’s not fair excluding our guest like this.”

 

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mrs. Lestrade,” Mycroft spoke finally, turning so he could better see both of Greg’s parents. “Je peux vous l'assurer, je ne me sens pas le moins du monde exclut de la conversation. C'est un plaisir de faire votre connaissance Monsieur Lestrade. Je m'appelle Mycroft Holmes.” ( _ I assure you, I am not excluded.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lestrade.  I am Mycroft Holmes. _ )

 

“Ah, vous parlez français à ce que j’entends.” ( _ Ah, so you speak French, then? _ ) Pierre asked, finally giving Mycroft a proper lookover.

 

“En effet,” ( _ I do, _ ) Mycroft answered. “C'est une des première langues que j'ai apprise étant enfant. “ ( _ It’s one of the first languages I learned as a child. _ )

 

“Well, I am sticking to English,” Annabeth remarked, eyes slanting at Pierre. “As it is our guest’s native tongue, regardless of how wonderful his French is.  Do not be rude, Pierre.”

 

“I do not see how you can consider it rude, Ann,” Pierre said in English, though his accent remained rather heavy. “He clearly speaks it better than our own son, so I do not see the issue.”

 

Greg bit back a groan.  He knew his da would harp on his French immediately.  He bloody  _ knew _ it.  Mycroft gave him an amused look, which he returned with a sharp glare.  It was certainly not funny.  The amusement turned into even more of a grin, to which Greg couldn’t resist elbowing the man.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“I expect you will assist with dinner this evening, Greg,” Pierre commented, earning another stern look from his wife.

 

“Pierre, don’t make our son slave away in here every day, he’s on holiday.”

 

“Of course, sir,” Greg nodded, finishing off his tea.  Annabeth sighed.

 

“As you can see, Mycroft, I tend to get ignored,” she commented in defeat, rolling her eyes.

 

“Mycroft, is there anything you are allergic to?” Pierre asked, setting his half-full cup aside and stepping back from the island slightly.

 

“Nothing in relation to food, no,” Mycroft said, shaking his head.  Pierre nodded, turning to rinse out his cup.

 

“Very well.  I must check on the bakery.  I will return later this evening.”

 

He leaned in to press a kiss to Annabeth’s cheek, nodded at Greg and Mycroft, and took his leave.  The moment he was gone, Greg could feel his shoulders slump just a bit.  He had a feeling he would always be on edge around his father, no matter what.  It wasn’t in a bad way, it was just… a part of him.

 

“And I need to finish up some laundry,” Annabeth announced, smiling brightly. “Greg, you should show Mycroft around the grounds.  It’s so beautiful, I honestly wish we would come up here more often than we do.  If you boys are hungry when you come back I can make something small to hold you over until dinner.”

 

“Okay, mum,” Greg chuckled, standing.  Mycroft followed suit, and Greg made his way over to kiss his mum’s cheek.

 

“I’m so glad you are finally here,” Annabeth directed at Mycroft. “Our home is yours, so please be comfortable and treat it as such.”

 

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Lestrade,” Mycroft nodded, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

 

“Please, there’s no need to keep up such formalities.  Call me Annabeth, I mean it,” she requested for the second time, shaking her head and smiling.

 

“Very well,” Mycroft conceded. “Annabeth.”

 

“That’s a good lad,” she praised, reaching out to squeeze Mycroft’s bicep before also taking her leave.

 

Now alone in the kitchen, a different set of nerves flared back up inside of Greg.  He exhaled lightly, running a hand through his hair and busying himself temporarily by taking care of both his and Mycroft’s tea cups, as well as the kettle.  It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the man he’d be spending so much intimate time with for the week.

  
Part of him wished he’d thought things through a bit better, and it wasn’t the first time he’d had that thought since they’d left London.  Back home, where it was easier to keep distance and, due to work, not see one another for days at a time, Greg could ignore the strong feelings he had for Mycroft.  Here, he couldn’t escape them.  He would have to grin and bear it, however, because there was no way anything would ever come out of it.  He was Mycroft’s friend, nothing more, and as much as he wondered if they would work as well together as he imagined, he knew he would never have the chance to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

Greg's parents' house:

 


	3. Chapter 3

“So what are you allergic to?” Greg asked out of the blue after a good ten minutes or so of silence between them.  After he’d finished the washing up, he’d done as his mum suggested and took Mycroft around the rest of the house, before leading the way out back.  The yard was a bit larger than he remembered it being, even with the garden his mum kept and the trees toward the back of the property they were now walking beside.

 

“What?” Mycroft asked, glancing over at him curiously.  It was adorable, if Greg were being honest with himself.  It seems they had both become quite comfortable and peaceful with the walk and their surroundings.  He smiled.

 

“Back in the kitchen, you told my da you didn’t have any food allergies,” he explained, recalling the odd phrasing Mycroft had used. “So what are you allergic to?  I didn’t think you had any.”

 

“Oh, that,” Mycroft recalled. “Yes, I unfortunately have seasonal allergies.  As well as a strong aversion to different types of flora.  Lilies in particular.”

 

“Oh wow,” Greg blinked.  Thank goodness his mum didn’t plant lilies, normally.  But… “I’ve never really seen you bothered by the seasonal stuff.”

 

“It is not as intense as it was when I was a child,” Mycroft began to elaborate after a few moments. “I also get allergy shots every few months to help keep it at bay.  It is terribly inconvenient to fall into a sneezing fit in my line of work.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Greg chuckled. “So the shots work?”

 

“For the most part,” Mycroft hummed. “Unless there is an abnormally high pollen count or I get in close proximity to the flora that affect me.  Then there’s no helping the reaction that follows.”

 

“Well, seems I’m still learning stuff about you every day,” Greg mused, more to himself than anything.  The comment didn’t pass Mycroft’s notice, though.

 

“I could say the same,” he countered.

 

“Hardly,” Greg laughed.  To think that he was still a mystery to Mycroft was ridiculous.  Not when Mycroft could read anyone and everyone.  He gazed over at the man, barely able to mask his adoration for him and for this moment.  They hadn’t even been here half a day.  Bloody hell, he was in trouble.

 

“Tell me a little more about your childhood,” Mycroft requested after a moment.  As usual the man didn’t let on if he’d noticed the way Greg was feeling.

 

“What about it?” Greg asked, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and blinking.

 

“This is your familial home, and yet you’ve never had any kind of regional accent,” Mycroft began to explain, gazing around them as they walked slowly.  Greg watched him admire some of the freshly planted flowers, blooming brightly now that spring was in full swing. “Your surname was an obvious tip off that you had French ancestry, and your fluency in the language showed that you still had close family who spoke it above English.  However, nothing else suggests you grew up right outside of Paris.  It is clear by the way your room is furnished and decorated that you did spend a good portion of your childhood there.  So what is the missing piece?”

 

Greg’s mouth twitched into a smile and he glanced down at the grass for a moment as he listened to the explanations.  There really was something to be said about Mycroft asking him for these kinds of details.  For a man that had access to unlimited information and who had, without a doubt, done a background check on him immediately after he’d met Sherlock, Mycroft sure did look for a lot of information from his mouth.  He always wondered why, but he supposed it rested with the respect and trust they seemed to have with one another.

 

“It’s not really all that exciting,” Greg finally said, glancing up at the sky. “Mum’s family, of course, still lives back in England.  Mostly London, but not all.  So all of us learned French and English right alongside one another.  We lived here, but would visit London often.  Then, there was a period of time when I was… oh, I’d say about eight?  We had to move to London for two years.  Still don’t know why, mum and da never said.  So I guess… I dunno, I guess a mixture of all that stuff kept me from getting any kind of solid French regional accent.  I had it a bit, of course.  But with all of that, once I moved to London permanently, it only took a few years to disappear completely.”

 

“Your father doesn’t like that,” Mycroft commented.

 

“Nah,” Greg shrugged. “This is all as much of my heritage as England, so he gets on us a lot if we don’t keep things crisp.  He’s a strict man.”

 

His strict ideals were one of the reasons Greg didn’t concern himself too much with the amounts of physical affection that might be required for them to carry out their ruse.  Pierre wasn’t a fan of overly affectionate displays - especially in public, but it even applied in his home.  Holding hands and quick kisses were about the extent of it.  Everything else was reserved for private moments alone (and he couldn’t say how many times he’d heard  _ that _ over the course of his life).  Greg knew he certainly wouldn’t want to see him and Mycroft hanging all over each other, and none of it had anything to do with the fact that they were both men.

 

“He commands respect,” Mycroft said.  Greg hummed. “No doubt that’s the way it has always been.  You say strict, but with a fondness.  You have a good family, Gregory.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose I’m pretty lucky about that,” he smiled, glancing over at Mycroft.  The man’s face was impassive as always, an almost completely blank slate that told him nothing.  However, Greg could see a comfort in his eyes.  They were softer than normal, and his shoulders weren’t so rigid.  

 

It was really nice to see Mycroft relaxed.  If nothing else, this trip at least did the man that service.  For that, Greg was grateful.

 

* * *

 

The night went surprisingly smooth.  Mycroft found that he actually enjoyed the company the Lestrades provided.  It was completely clear just where Gregory got his traits from.  As expected, the older man was in the kitchen as dinner was prepared, and the few times Mycroft glanced in, Pierre was keeping him quite busy.  This, of course, left him in the sitting room with Annabeth.  She was a genuine, charming woman.  The more time he spent with her, the more he could confirm Greg had her eyes.  There was absolutely no mistaking that.  She had no qualms about keeping their conversation going, and while Mycroft had started with some concerns, he had no problem navigating it with ease.  

 

Amazing had not quite been the right word for how dinner was.  Pierre was a mastermind in the kitchen, there was no other explanation.  Mycroft was sure he had never tasted food so delicate and full of flavor.  On top of that, everything was balanced perfectly.  Nothing was too dull, and yet none of the spices were overwhelmingly strong.  He focused on the meal and not much else, though there was quite a bit to think about.

 

Everyone was asleep now.  Mycroft was sat in bed in Greg’s room, the older man stretched out next to him.  Having decided to get a bit of work done, his laptop was sitting on his lap and his mobile was in his hands, but he was paying attention to neither.  Instead, Mycroft found that his gaze was drawn to Greg every time the man shifted in his sleep.

 

He had showered once they made their way upstairs, his silvery hair still slightly damp.  It hadn’t been something Mycroft had considered, but now that they were in close proximity, he realized just how much more prominent Greg’s scent was.  The smell of shampoo was fresh, mixed with cleanliness from his body wash, and the draw was immense.

 

Mycroft’s eyes scanned the expanse of Greg’s body; taking in the exposed skin of his neck and the way the duvet settled along his body.  He was lying on his side, facing away from Mycroft, and he continued examining the way his body dipped and curved around his waist and thighs.  There was nothing overly sensual about it, and yet Mycroft’s fingers twitched with the desire to reach over and touch.

 

With a sigh, Mycroft tore his gaze away and glanced at his laptop again.  He must have read the same paragraph on the meeting notes Anthea had sent over at least five times now.  He couldn’t focus, and that was rarely ever an issue for him.  His mind was racing, and no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get it to quiet down.  All thoughts pointed back to the same thing: Gregory Lestrade.  He looked over at the man again, watching as he turned a bit in his sleep, his lips parted as he huffed out slow, even breaths.  Mycroft swallowed.

 

He could not afford this.  For too long Mycroft had resisted falling down this path again.  Caring was not an advantage.  It was the last lesson Brandon had ever taught him, and the one he had decided he would carry close to himself for the rest of his life.  He had made the mistake of opening up to someone and trusting them, and to say it had ended badly was an understatement.

 

It was equally difficult, however, to deny what kind of effect Greg had on him.  It had been a while since he’d engaged in sexual activities so he knew that had something to do with it.  He would be foolish to deny how incredibly attractive Greg was.  The man was stunning, and Mycroft had thought so from the moment they met.  He didn’t count on that fact becoming as distracting as it was, though.  He sighed, pressing his lips together in a thin line, his heart pounding.

 

The only thing that pulled his attention away from the man sleeping next to him was when his mobile pinged from the nightstand.  Mycroft jumped slightly, back straightening as he turned and picked it up once more.

 

_ Distracted? _

 

His mouth twitched in slight amusement.  He knew Anthea didn’t have an eye on them, but it had been awhile since their last correspondence.  While he was trying to work.  That was rare enough that it very easily invited comment.  He sighed and shook his head.

 

_ Not in the way you are suggesting.  -MH _

 

_ Maybe you should be. _

 

_ Do not start that again.  -MH _

 

_ I’m just saying. _

 

_ I am aware, as you have been saying for a while now.  And I am saying to cease.  I am going to sleep.  -MH _

 

For as much as he trusted Anthea with his work and his life, the woman could be irritatingly nosey when it came to his personal affairs.  She was the only other person alive who had any idea of the way Greg affected him, and of course she was all for it.  Mycroft recalled the rather mortifying conversation where she continued to say over and over again that having sex with the Detective Inspector would do him some good.

 

He would not.  He could not.  He could not afford to go down the path.  It was a risk he had been unaware of with Brandon, and he learned that the hard way when he had been rather cruelly discarded a year after they had gotten involved.  Never again.

 

He ignored the tightness in his chest even as he thought those words.  He ignored the part of his mind telling him to just give in.  He ignored it fiercely, shutting his laptop and setting everything aside.  Sliding down in the bed and under the duvet, Mycroft closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the unwelcome comfort Greg’s warmth brought him.

 

* * *

 

One of the luxuries of being on vacation was the freedom of waking up whenever you felt like it, instead of your subconscious being manhandled by some obnoxious alarm.  Greg loved those mornings.  Most of the time he would even lounge around in bed for another hour or two after waking, just relaxing and letting himself doze a bit longer.  It was his way of making up for the long nights and lack of sleep that being a Detective Inspector for the homicide division of Scotland Yard offered.

 

It became clear upon his waking that morning, however, that this vacation wouldn’t quite provide that luxury.  For one, the clock told him that he had woken up a lot earlier than he normally did when he didn’t  _ have _ to be up early.  More than that, though, was his inability to relax in a bed he was sharing with the man he wanted rather desperately.

 

For a moment, Greg continued to lie there, staring at Mycroft, who was still asleep.  It surprised him, because he’d always gotten the impression that Mycroft woke up even earlier than he did. Greg had never thought that he was the sleeping-in type.  Yet, here he was, lying on his side with an arm tucked under his pillow, facing Greg.  His usually perfect hair was messy with unconscious movement, a few strands hanging over his forehead and curled slightly.

 

Slowly, Greg shifted into a sitting position, continuing to gaze at the slumbering man.  Without thinking, he reached out with the intent to brush the slightly ginger strands aside.  He froze, fingertips mere inches from Mycroft’s forehead, heart leaping up in his throat with the realization of what he was doing.  He drew back carefully, not wanting to wake Mycroft up, and let out a shaky sigh.  It was very bad that the act had come so naturally.   _ Beyond _ bad.  He had to get out of bed.  He didn’t trust himself all of a sudden.

 

Slowly, he peeled back the duvet and slid out of bed, stretching with a soft grunt.  He padded across the bedroom, tilting his head to glance at himself in the small mirror sitting atop his dresser.  His hair was sticking up at all kinds of odd angles, but he didn’t fancy getting in the shower just yet.  He ran his fingers through the strands for a moment before straightening and heading towards the door.  Before he stepped out, however, he turned to look over his shoulder at the man still sleeping in his bed.  He sighed.  Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea after all.

 

The house was quiet as Greg made his way downstairs.  He knew there was no way his father was even in - he’d probably gone down to bakery ages ago.  As he got closer to the kitchen, the smell of coffee hit his nose, making him sigh happily.  He headed in, expecting to see his mum, when instead-

 

“Sis?” he asked, blinking at the back of the slender woman standing in the room.  His sister, only five years younger than him, glanced over her shoulder with a big grin on her face.  Her hair was blonder than it had been the last time they’d seen each other.  Greg blinked, the color surprising him a bit.

 

“Greggy!” she cooed, spinning and darting across the kitchen to tackle and hug him tightly.  Greg grunted, taking a step back to keep them both standing.

 

“ _ Must _ you keep calling me that?” Greg groaned as he hugged Emily tightly. “We’re not teenagers anymore you know.”

 

“You’re never too old for Greggy,” Emily snorted, smirking as she stepped back. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Greg stepped past his sister so he could make himself a much-needed cup of coffee.  He added his usual one sugar, stirring briefly, before turning to lean on the counter.  Emily was stood across from him, her own mug in hand, watching him in that weird, knowing way she did.

 

“What?” he finally asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Mum said you were bringing your boyfriend along,” Emily said, sipping her coffee.  Her eyes slanted. “Your boyfriend that you’ve conveniently never told me about.”

 

“Em-”

 

“You tell me everything, Greg,” she interrupted, crossing her ankles. “Soooo… Care to explain?”

 

Greg opened his mouth, trying his best not to look dumbfounded as he desperately tried stalling for time.  He hadn’t thought about this conversation; hadn’t prepared himself.  Whether he considered it lucky or not, before Greg had the chance to answer, Mycroft joined them in the kitchen.  Greg blinked, before giving him a genuinely pleased smile.

 

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside. “There’s coffee.  I can make tea…”

 

“Coffee is fine, Gregory, thank you,” Mycroft smiled.  His expression was a mixture of relaxed and cautious.  How he could pull it off, Greg would never know.  His eyes flicked to his sister, before he turned and busied himself preparing the other man’s coffee. 

 

Even though he wasn’t looking at either of them, Greg just knew that Emily was sizing up the other man in the kitchen, peering at him in her usual way, while Mycroft was likely regarding her back with that polite blankness he was an expert of.

 

“Hello, I’m Emily, Greg’s sister,” she finally introduced, an amused tone to her voice.  Greg pressed his lips together.  He was too used to that sound.

 

“I have heard a lot about you Emily,” Mycroft complimented. “It is lovely to meet you.”

 

“Lovely meeting you as well.  Wish I could say the same about the rest...” Emily said slowly.  Greg could feel her eyes on him now.  Sighing through his nose, he turned and walked over to Mycroft, offering him the mug he had prepared.  The taller man took it with a soft nod, regarding him gently.  It made Greg’s stomach flutter.  He could feel Mycroft’s warmth, familiar from being next to one another just moments ago in bed.  Greg’s nervous flight response tried to kick in, but he knew that would just be even more suspicious.  So he shoved it down, managing a soft smile as Mycroft’s hand rested against his back.

 

Emily watched them, and Greg could only guess what she was seeing.  He loved his little sister - a lot - but the problem with them being so close is how well they truly knew one another.  He licked his lips absently, reaching over to pick his own coffee up again and stared down into the steaming, brown liquid.

 

“You mustn't blame Gregory for that,” Mycroft began before Greg could try to make up an excuse that made sense.  He hadn’t prepared for Emily.  Why, he didn’t know. “The nature of our relationship revolved around sensitive matters in the beginning.  I work for the British Government - in a very minor, boring capacity, I assure you - however, even the boring roles require some secrecy and sensitivity depending on the circumstances.  There was a case that had to be very controlled and secret, on both of our ends, so it became natural to remain silent.  While our relationship is hardly a matter of national importance, sometimes those habits just bleed over.”

 

Greg blinked, having glanced up at Mycroft as he spoke, impressed by what he was saying.  His mouth twitched up in a smile, and as he turned back to his coffee, he noticed Emily processing the information.  After a few moments, she seemed satisfied enough and shrugged.

 

“Fair enough,” she sighed, putting down her empty cup and smiling.  She pushed off the counter to head over to the two men and stuck out her hand for full introduction. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, regardless.  Emily Lestrade.”

 

“Mycroft Holmes,” he returned, reaching out and shaking her hand with a warm smile.  Greg found that he couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

 

_ You’ve got it bad, Lestrade. _

 

He almost missed the dawning look on his little sister’s face, which immediately sent off panic sirens in his brain.  Her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted as she realized.

 

“Holmes?” she repeated as she stepped back slightly. “As in-”

 

“Yes,” Greg interrupted, nervousness fluttering in his stomach.

 

“That detective bloke you work with.”

 

“Ah, Sherlock,” Mycroft nodded. “Yes, he is my younger brother.”

 

“Ooohh, so  **you’re** the mysterious older brother in the dashing waistco-”

 

“And that’s enough of that,” Greg interrupted again, doing his best to not shoot daggers at Emily with his eyes.  Emily blinked, staring at him again.  Her eyes slanted, and she started to grin.  Greg’s glare hardened.

 

“Well Ems this is lovely, but we have plans,” Greg excused, setting down his mug and taking hold of Mycroft’s arm. “Places to see and all that.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she teased as he practically tugged Mycroft out of the room.

 

Leave it to Emily to almost out how he really felt about Mycroft right in front of him.  No doubt she had seen right through their ‘relationship’ as well.  Greg kept his eyes forward as he led Mycroft through the house and towards the bedroom, focusing on pushing down the embarrassed heat that had settled onto his cheeks.  By the time they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, Greg felt he had pushed down the panic and embarrassment and had schooled his features rather well.  Of course, that still didn’t keep Mycroft from regarding him with a raised eyebrow when they finally faced each other again.

 

The problem remained that Mycroft was too damn clever.  It would have been fool’s luck to think that he hadn’t seen right through that rather disastrous interaction that had just happened.  The chances of doing successful damage control were slim, but Greg had to try regardless.  It was better than the odd silence between them.

 

“She’s having you on,” he shrugged, not letting himself completely meet those piercing eyes.  That probably didn’t help his case any, but there were some things he just couldn’t control.  He didn’t think he could look at Mycroft’s face right now. “You know how siblings are.  Ems and I have always been very close, so naturally we make it our life missions to say ridiculous stuff about the other.”

 

“She doesn’t quite believe the front we have put up,” Mycroft said after a few moments.  It wasn’t was Greg had expected to hear, and it caused him to blink and glance up at the younger man.

 

“Not fully,” he admitted with a shrug. “We’ve always told each other everything.  So for this to be the first she’s heard of me supposedly dating someone… I’ll handle it.”

 

“Did we really have plans this morning or was that an excuse to get away from her?”

 

“Bit of both,” Greg chuckled. “But it would be nice to get out.  Paris isn’t terribly far away if you wanted to go there for anything.  Or I could show you a bunch of the places I used to hang out and stuff.”

 

He almost cringed.  That sounded very date-like, didn’t it?  Did it?  He couldn’t stop feeling jittery this morning over everything.  He only hoped that getting out of the house would get it out of his mind.  He was sure that he would only be able to put up this front for so long if he continued to dwell on the constant fluttering in his stomach or the way his pulse sped up rapidly when he and Mycroft got too close or things seemed too intimate.  At least, if they were out and about, there wasn’t the constant pressure to keeping up fake appearances.  It was those reasons that made Greg hope rather desperately that Mycroft would agree to spend the day out.  Date-like or not, it was better than the alternative.  Assuming Mycroft would actually  _ agree _ . 

 

“I don’t see why not,” Mycroft answered. “It would be a bit much to remain cooped up in the same house the entire time, vacation or not.  I am going to take a shower and then we may leave whenever you would like.”

 

Greg nodded.  Having taken a shower before bed last night, he figured he would be fine for now. So he let Mycroft have full reign of the bathroom, deciding to remain in the bedroom while he waited.  He  _ certainly _ wasn’t hiding from his sister, avoiding the inevitable conversation that would happen the moment they were alone again.  Definitely not.

 

* * *

 

Slipping into his morning routine helped to give Mycroft a sense of normality and structure in what had quickly become a bizarre series of events that had started when he and Greg had left London the day before.  He could honestly admit to himself that he had not been thinking, agreeing to accompany the older man on this charade they were going through.  It was incredibly rare that he let his heart rule his head, or that he let alcohol slip in and impair his impeccably solid judgement.  He had, though, and it had been foolish.  He had become too comfortable.

 

Sighing, he tilted his head back under the warm stream of water, taking longer than he usually did as he showered.  He needed to sort his thoughts and set himself back up properly.  It had been a peculiar morning, meeting Emily and witnessing the interaction between her and Greg.  It was easy to deduce how surprised and curious she had been by Mycroft’s presence there.  It was also easy to see that she didn’t buy the story that Greg’s parents seemed to have.  Once again, siblings proved to be the tricky elements in their lives.  Mycroft wasn’t surprised.

 

Her doubt had not been the surprising element earlier.  No, it had been Greg’s sudden nervousness and eagerness to keep her from saying certain things.  Had he been given more time, Mycroft would have been able to deduce even more than he already had, though it was clear that Gregory wanted to evade his sister as much as possible.  It was also pretty clear that the reasons for this did not just lie with Emily’s suspicion about the two of them.  There was something else, something embarrassing that he clearly wanted to keep from Mycroft.

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose before turning the water off and toweling himself dry.  Mycroft was irritated that he couldn’t quite figure out the missing piece.  There was one there, that was clear as day, but the details surrounding it were still muddled.  He regarded himself in the steamed mirror as he dried his hair and pressed his lips in a thin line.  He suspected the reason it wasn’t becoming clear, and it was a reason Mycroft absolutely did not want to admit to himself.

 

_ Sentiment _ .

 

Pressing his lips even tighter, Mycroft finished drying off and turned his attentions to completing his tasks and getting dressed.  As much as he would like to remain in silence, preferably with a glass of whiskey, that was not what was in store for him.  Not until he got back to London.  He simply did not have the time to analyze everything properly today, so instead he filed it away within his mind and turned to the tan Paul Smith suit hanging on the bathroom door.

 

Mycroft Holmes did not do ‘casual’.  Even in his own home, alone, he did not dress the way everyone else seemed to.  Jeans and sweatpants and the like simply weren’t a part of his wardrobe.  A suit like the one he had decided to wear today was as close to casual as he got.  It was a lighter shade of tan, which he had matched with a light blue shirt and a yellow tie.  This combination of colors was never one he would wear in the office, or when he travelled abroad for political reasons.  However, it complimented vacationing rather nicely, especially during the springtime (hence his reason for picking it).  The material was light enough to breathe comfortably, while still offering some protection against harsher winds.  After straightening the tie and letting it settle properly underneath his waistcoat, he pulled on his suit jacket and completed everything with a matching yellow pocket square.

 

He spared a few final moments to lean in and fix his hair, smoothing back the stray strands that had come loose while he’d dressed.  Then, with nothing else to be done, Mycroft squared his shoulders and took a slow breath, turned, and headed back to the bedroom where Greg was waiting for him.

 

The older man had dressed himself to settle in the odd line between casual and dressed down.  He was wearing jeans, though they seemed to be fairly new jeans that had not faded or gotten any holes in them yet.  His button-up shirt was white with a simple crosshatching pattern, one Mycroft had seen him wear before when he was forced to do press briefings.  The top two buttons were undone, and as Mycroft walked in, was in the process of folding the sleeves up to right above his elbows.  He glanced up and smiled, and the younger man didn’t miss the way those warm brown eyes scanned over his body.  It was… odd.  He shifted his weight and returned the smile with a small, controlled one of his own.  Yet another observation he didn’t have the time to really consider in this moment.

 

“Light colors look good on you,” Greg commented, tilting his head to the side slightly.  He grinned, the tone of his voice light. “Not used to seeing them.  I suppose this is your casual wear?”

 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Mycroft shot back just as lightly. “So, what do we have in store for the day?”

 

“Well, I thought I could show you around the town a bit,” Greg sighed in thought, going back to rolling up his other sleeve. “Since we’d be leaving town to head to Paris anyway.  Which we are gonna go ahead and do, mum wants me to pick up a few things for her while we’re there.”

 

Mycroft nodded, busying himself on his mobile and texting briefly with Anthea while Greg finished getting ready.  Then, he followed the older man through the house and out the door.  Greg shouted out a quick announcement that they were off as they went through the door, which Mycroft found curiously amusing.  Still avoiding Emily, it seemed.  He eyed Greg’s back for a moment as he followed him out, before turning to head over to the passenger side of the car.

 

They were quiet for a few moments as Greg began driving, Mycroft pulling his mobile back out and reading a few new emails.  Nothing important enough that he couldn’t wait until later to focus his attention on, so as Greg slowly began to point out different areas, chuckle, and regale Mycroft with rambunctious tales of his childhood.

 

“I would blow off class and hang out over there,” he mentioned, slowing the car a bit as he gestured over to a small grassy area.  It seemed to be the remnants of a park, mostly empty now but with a few worn-down concrete structures scattered across the area. “Was a bit more of a skate park hangout type place back then, far enough away from school that we could all sneak off and walk over in twenty minutes or so.  Lotsa kids would drink and smoke underage there.  Adults just… avoided the place for whatever reason.”

 

“Did you ever think back then that you would grow up to become a Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked, teasing a bit.  Greg had been everything Mycroft was not growing up.  He was everything Mycroft had avoided as a teenager.  No one could ever know for certain, but he highly doubted he would have ever given Greg the time of day, had they met back then.  There was a pause, before Greg laughed loudly.

 

“Hell no,” he answered truthfully, shaking his head.  He glanced over at Mycroft for as long as he could allow before having to focus on the road again. “No, I was gonna be a rock star.”

 

“A rock star?” Mycroft repeated, raising an eyebrow.  It made sense, thinking about it.  Greg’s love for music was pretty obvious.  Mix that with the photos Mycroft had seen of his youth, and his energetic personality, and it painted a pretty clear picture.

 

“Oh yeah.  Had a band and everything,” Greg nodded. “Uni did us in, though.  My best mate and I went to the same school, the others to different ones and we just… didn’t have the time anymore.”

 

Mycroft hummed, turning his head to glance out at their surroundings.  A comfortable silence fell between them again, broken by the occasional comment from Greg when they passed something else that had been significant to his time growing up here.  Admittedly, he didn’t have as many that spanned his entire upbringing, with the times the Lestrades would move around, but what he did have to say was fascinating enough.  Mycroft found that he was enjoying the glimpses into Greg’s past.  It was a strange feeling.  He made sure to engage in the conversation where it seemed appropriate, and sometimes asking questions to get Greg to further explain a story, but for the most part he let the older man lead their conversations.

 

“So have you just been humoring me this whole time?” Greg asked once they had set off for Paris.  They hadn’t spoken for about ten minutes or so, Mycroft getting on his mobile again to read a report from Syria.  He blinked and glanced up from the screen.

 

“Pardon?” he asked, tilting his head.

 

“Letting me jabber away about my past,” Greg explained.  There was an amused look on his face. “Surely you’ve got all sorts of files stored away that could tell you all the same stuff.”

 

“Perhaps,” Mycroft commented, pressing his lips together a bit.  Greg was teasing again, that much was obvious.  So why did the comment settle strangely with him?  He licked his bottom lip and glanced out the window. “However, some details I prefer to hear from the source.  Much more interesting than words on paper.”

 

“So I’m interesting, huh?”

 

“Very.”

 

To most people, a comment like that wasn’t much to bat their eyelashes at.  To Mycroft, he felt he had rather shown his hand.  There was an almost brutal honesty in that single word he had spoken, and it caused him to shift a fraction in his seat.  In this regard, however, Greg was luckily like most people.  He either didn’t pick up on the implication, or he did and was very good at masking it.  Mycroft highly doubted it was the latter.

 

Greg really was, though.  Interesting.  It was true that Mycroft had a few files on him.  He’d gathered up all the information the first time Greg had been seen associating with Sherlock.  As he did with anyone who seemed to get close with his brother, Mycroft checked into him.  While there was quite a bit about his upbringing amongst the pages, it hadn’t been something that seemed particularly pressing to understand at the time.  Once it had reached the point that information like that could have been more useful to know, Mycroft had just chosen not to pull it all back out.

 

“If I find out you have some crap shaky cam recording of my band performing at any bars I will burn it,” Greg said instead.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“I assure you, it is nothing that thorough.  Now,  _ photos _ on the other hand…”

 

“Oh  **god** ,” Greg groaned dramatically. “That’s just as bad!  Destroy them.  They are a threat to national security.  Destroy them.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t keep back the genuine laugh that bubbled up at that.  He hadn’t actually looked at any photos, though no doubt they were there, but now he was very tempted to when he got back to his office.  Sometimes curiosity wasn’t a bad thing, he supposed.

 

* * *

 

The drive was nice.  Greg forgot his earlier nervousness back at the house and fell into easy conversation with Mycroft as they drove.  Once they finally hit Paris, however, Greg fell silent so he could concentrate.  It had been a while since he’d navigated these streets and while he wasn’t worried about getting lost or anything, it wasn’t the same kind of traffic flow that he dealt with back at home so he wanted to make sure he was extra careful.

 

His mum needed him to pick up a few things from the Rue Cler market strip, which was only a few blocks away from the Champ de Mars.  Mycroft didn’t seem like the touristy type, but Greg wanted to at least visit the Eiffel Tower before they headed back.  He’d always loved that park, so he hoped the younger man would humor him for a bit.

 

After picking up some bread and cheese for Annabeth, they stopped at Café Roussillon for a small bite to eat.  It had been Mycroft’s suggestion, pointing it out and mentioning that it was one of the places he’d frequented the last time he was here.  They relaxed for a while and shared some wine, while Greg ordered a risotto and Mycroft had a salad.  They didn’t converse too much while they ate, and after Greg paid they were off again.

 

Greg went back to the car briefly to drop off his mum’s purchases, and then glanced toward the Champ de Mars.

 

“Care for a trip to that big ol’ tower over there?” he asked, smirking and throwing a thumb over his shoulder to gesture at the Eiffel Tower looming in the distance. “It’s apparently cool or something.”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but he was grinning.  That made Greg’s grin widen even more.

 

“You’re ridiculous, Gregory,” he chuckled. “But yes, I suppose we can.  If we must.”

 

“Well don’t get too excited, you’ll make people stare,” Greg snorted.  He turned, however, and they set off down the sidewalk.

 

They really couldn’t have picked a better time of year to come out here.  The flowers were in full bloom, getting more picturesque as they walked further into the park.  The grassy areas were bright green with batches of freshly-planted flowers decorating the paths.  Oranges, whites, yellows, and reds were scattered all along, the soft breeze rustling everything slightly.  Greg was grateful that it wasn’t raining today either.  Basically, it was perfect.

 

Well, there were a couple elements missing.  But… there was nothing Greg could do about that.

 

Clearing his throat at nothing in particular, Greg glanced up at the blooming pink trees surrounding the main area where the Eiffel Tower was.  It was breathtaking.  He had to take a few pictures to take back, so he pulled out his mobile and slowed so he could.  He could feel patient eyes on him, Mycroft stopping when he stopped but not commenting.  It was peaceful.

 

“Okay, let’s you and me take a picture now,” he announced after he’d gotten a few nice shots.  He turned to look at Mycroft, who was giving him a surprised look.

 

“Gregory…”

 

“Oh come on,” Greg pressed, nudging Mycroft’s bicep. “One photo.  This is a vacation, after all.  We’ll snap one and then head back, yeah?”

 

He waited for a few moments while Mycroft continued to stare at him, pale eyes shifting back and forth from him and the tower behind them.  It was interesting watching what had to be some kind of internal debate, though Greg couldn’t really figure out why.  They were mates, after all.  Sure, he knew Mycroft wasn’t a fan of having loads of photos around of himself, but they’d never taken one together before.  What better opportunity than in front of the Eiffel Tower with all the gorgeous flora around?

 

Though… was he being too eager about it?  Was the wishful part of him taking this a step too far?  A minor wave of panic shot through Greg at the thought, though he was careful to keep it off his face.  Thankfully, though, the thoughts were interrupted as Mycroft nodded.

 

“Fine,” the man signed, taking a small step closer. “One photo.”

 

“Sweet,” Greg beamed.

 

Flipping to the front camera on his mobile, he turned so that both their backs were to the Eiffel Tower and held out his camera.  Mycroft moved to stand beside him, and as their shoulders touched, impulse took over and Greg slung his free arm around Mycroft’s shoulders.  There was a flash of surprise that came across Mycroft’s face as he turned his head to glance at Greg, who plastered one of his most excited grins on his face and snapped the photo.

 

It was a great photo.  The lighting worked, and Greg had angled it well enough to catch a good view of the bottom section of the Eiffel Tower.  They were also directly in front of one of the fully-blossoming trees.  All in all, Greg was incredibly proud of his photography skills in the moment.

  
What he happened to miss, however, was the fact that Mycroft did not turn to look back at the camera.  No, he had continued to look at Greg.  And while the older man could not see it at the time, the picture was definitely worth a thousand words as it captured one of the most honestly affectionate, adoring expressions Mycroft had ever worn.

 

* * *

 

 

LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL ART YOU GUYS 

 

Art by [iraya](http://iraya.tumblr.com/)

 

art by [anotherwellkeptsecret](http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/)

 

art by [i-am-greg-m-lestrade](http://i-am-greg-m-lestrade.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

“ _ Uncle Greeeeggggg _ !!!!”

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened in surprise as they walked through the door and were greeted by the high-pitched squeal.  Greg just laughed, while quickly setting the bags he was carrying on the floor and crouching, arms held out.

 

Moments later the blur of a small child was barreling down the hallway and right into Greg’s arms.  He grunted at the force of the body colliding with his, but somehow managed to keep upright and pulled her in for a tight hug.

 

“Well hello to you too!” he laughed, and the girl giggled.

 

“Momma told me you’d be here with someone very special, but you didn’t bring Abby?”

 

“No, I’m sorry.  Believe me, she was quite vocal with her upset at not being able to come see her favorite cousin.”

 

Mycroft hung back, standing near the door, watching the scene in front of him.  So this was Emily’s daughter.  He recalled Greg mentioning her a few times, including the heads up that she would probably make an appearance at some point during their trip.  He couldn’t help but smile in slight amusement as they conversed, Greg making it as clear as ever how good he was with children.

 

Greg had two daughters of his own of course, Elizabeth and Abigail, though Mycroft had never met them. He’d seen photos, and during a particularly threatening case, even viewed some protective surveillance (something that Greg would likely never be aware of but Mycroft had prefered to be as cautious as possible), but nothing more.  He’d also witnessed the man working with children as a Detective Inspector, though that was an entirely different set of behaviors to these ones.  Being a father, being an uncle…

 

Mycroft did not spend time around children.  He’d disliked children even when he was one.  He only ever had Sherlock, who he had spent a lot of time teaching and raising alongside his parents before things turned sour between them.  As an adult, though, he was never around children.  Thankfully his line of work never provided the opportunity.  The only downside was how incredibly unprepared it made him in this situation.

 

“Well I have some things I want you take back to Abby,” the girl was saying animatedly, still in Greg’s arms but leaning far enough back to carry proper conversation with him. “Some gifts and things.  Mummy should have them.”

 

“I will give them to her the second I’m back in London,” Greg smiled.

 

“And  **don’t** read the note!” she said sternly, pointing at him.  He chuckled.

 

“I swear.”

 

“So who is this person you brought with you instead of Abby?”

 

Mycroft blinked, eyes shifting as he realized that the girl was now staring at  _ him _ .  His eyes widened a fraction and he blinked, gaze shifting from the small, dark gaze on him to Greg’s, who was raising his eyebrows in patient amusement.

 

“This is Mycroft,” Greg introduced, setting the girl down and slowly standing.  Mycroft didn’t miss the way he grunted softly as his legs stretched out.  The girl stared for just a moment before walking over to stand in front of Mycroft, and after a moment, stuck her hand out.

 

“Hello Mycroft, I am Robyn Lestrade,” the girl - Robyn - greeted. “It is very nice to meet you.”

 

Mycroft shook many hands on a daily basis.  Politics was so much debating and meeting and handshaking that it was almost a bit ridiculous.  Yet this one caused him to hesitate in surprise.  This child, who couldn’t be more than eleven, was immediately more polite than some men fully grown and in their fifties.  Offering her a somewhat more genuine, incredibly polite smile, he leaned forward and took her hand, shaking it briefly before he straightened again.

 

“Likewise, Miss Robyn,” he said. “It is a pleasure.”

 

He did not deal with children, though the interaction was not disastrous.  Robyn beamed up at him for another moment, seeming ready to start speaking to him again, when someone was calling out her her.

 

“Coming!” she yelled in return, waving quickly at Mycroft before spinning on her heel and running loudly down the hall.

 

“She is certainly excitable,” Mycroft commented after a moment of silence.  The older man nodded, turning to look at him.  The expression on his face made Mycroft curiously self-conscious.  There was something soft and… affectionate to Greg’s features.  Mycroft swallowed.

 

“She’s a bundle of energy,” he confirmed, the expression fading to the more general amusement Mycroft was used to after a moment.  Part of him wondered if Greg even realized he was doing it. “Though the good news, I doubt there will be any more introductions that you’ll have to go through.  This should be just about everyone that’ll show.”

 

Mycroft knew that Greg had two more siblings; brothers.  He also knew that neither of them lived anywhere remotely near here.  What he’d seen put one of them in Spain and the other in America.  It had been about as far as Mycroft had looked into them, part of his initial background check into Greg all those years ago.  So yes, it would have been rather eerie if either of them had shown up as well this weekend.  Mycroft was grateful that was the case.  Anyone else in this house might have his head spinning.

 

“That is good news,” he admitted with a nod.  Greg glanced at him with an apologetic look on his face.

 

“Sorry, Mycroft, I know this has been a lot-” he started, but Mycroft waved a hand slightly to silence him.

 

“No need to concern yourself, it’s fine,” he assured the older man.  Then, reaching out, he set a hand on Greg’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I do need to go get some work done, however.  Not much, nothing that will keep me for more than an hour or so.  May I use the bedroom?”

 

“Sure, of course,” Greg nodded. “Dinner shouldn’t be for another few hours I’m sure, so we’ve got some downtime anyway.  Go, do your thing and keep the world safe.”

 

“It’s hardly anything so exciting, I assure you,” Mycroft smirked, raising his eyebrows.  Greg snorted, waving him off and headed down the hall.

 

Mycroft watched him for a moment before turning and climbing the stairs.  He sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed, door shut and silence settling around him.  Like Sherlock, too much interaction in too short a time could bother Mycroft after a while.  It was nowhere near as bad for him, of course, because his profession certainly didn’t allow for it to  _ really _ get to him.  He had days where he was dealing with handfuls of people for hours on end.  This not being a professional setting, though, tended to have a different effect. 

 

He was grateful for the chance to be alone for a while.  He texted Anthea, before standing again and walking over to his suitcase and retrieving his laptop.  He would be skyping in on a brief call with her to go over some meetings she’d attended in his stead today, as well as preparing for one he’d be joining in on tomorrow morning.  He only hoped she would stay on topic and not stray to discussions of his personal life - something she had quite a knack for doing recently, he had noticed.  He was dealing with enough of that in his own mind the past few days.  The look on her face the moment the video connected had him glaring at her.

 

“Say nothing,” he said sternly, causing her to shrug in false innocence.

 

“I certainly have no idea what you’re implying, Sir,” she said, her eyes shining.

 

“I’m sure you don’t,” Mycroft hummed. “Talk to me about the Prime Minister, and not whatever nosy mischief is going on in your mind, if you please.”

 

“He was in a mood today,” Anthea sighed.  Mycroft rolled his eyes.

 

“When is he  _ not _ ?”

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Mycroft?” Emily asked, eyeing Greg in a way that had him sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Getting a bit of work done,” he said, walking over to the fridge and putting up the stuff he’d grabbed for his mum while they’d been in Paris. “He’ll be back down later, for dinner and stuff.  Da still at the bakery?”

 

“Yup, he’ll probably be home around six,” Emily answered, glancing at the clock on the oven. “Mum stopped by there so she’s not home yet either.”

 

Greg had wondered, since he hadn’t seen her yet.  That made sense.  His mum usually went over when the afternoons got busier to work the front of house and help with some of the cleaning, even when Pierre was trying to wave her away and tell her to go back home.  Both his parents worked hard, so it was no question where Greg had gotten it from.

 

He uncapped a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, taking a few drinks as he watched his sister eyeing him suspiciously.  Finally, he sighed, screwing the cap back on and setting the water down on the counter next to him.

 

“Okay, what?” he asked, crossing his arms. “You clearly have something to say.”

 

“Damn right I do,” Emily nodded. “I have a few things to say.  Things I’d planned on saying before your boyfriend interrupted us this morning and gave you an out.  Or should I actually call him that?”

 

“Em-” he started.

 

“No, Greg,” Emily interrupted, pointing at him. “You don’t get to deflect me.  We’re having this conversation now.  You know you’ve never been able to pull one over on me, not like you have with our parents.  They might be good enough to either not see through your bullshit or be happy enough with the stories to turn a blind eye, but not me.  Tell me one time that your lies have actually worked on me?”

 

“Never,” Greg sighed, staring down at the floor.

 

“Exactly,” Emily nodded. “So talk to me honestly about this bloke.  Were you really so desperate to get mom off your back that you convinced the guy you’re crushing on hard to pretend to be your boyfriend and come meet your family?”

 

“I’m not-”

 

“Yeah, you so are,” she interrupted again, snorting. “Please.  The way you look at him is clear enough.  Your gaze lingers on him when you can get away with it.  When he’s not looking at you.  Plus, this is Sherlock Holmes’ brother.  Who you’ve admitted to finding attractive more than once over the phone with me.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not like that, okay?” Greg growled, frustrated. “We’re mates.  Nothing more.  It will never be more and this is equally the worst and best idea I’ve ever had.  Because at least I can pretend for a few days.  But it’ll make going back to London worse.  We sit here in this kitchen and let our knees or our hands touch, and we’re close to each other for the sake of appearances around you all, but that’s all it is.  For appearances.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

Greg ran a hand through his hair and sighed, shoulders slumping.  Emily always had this way about her; getting under his skin and forcing him to admit everything within moments.  He shook his head and pressed his lips together.  He hadn’t meant to wear his heart on his sleeve like that.  Bollocks.

 

“Oh Greg,” Emily sighed. “You’re right, this is probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.”

 

“Thanks,” Greg snorted.

 

“You’re also an imbecile.”

 

“Oi!”

 

Greg’s head shot up and he stared at his sister, who raised an eyebrow in challenge as she tilted her chin.  She was a fierce 5’5” that could always somehow tower over him, even though she was six inches shorter, and he blinked as he stared at her.  His head was spinning.  This is the conversation he had been desperately trying to avoid all day, and while he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, he had been hoping to for at least a little longer.  It was clearly no such luck, but what she was saying was baffling him.

 

“What-?”

 

“You’re a complete and total idiot,” she said again, as if clarifying it would explain anything.  He blinked, lips parted in shock and confusion.  She rolled her eyes and stalked across the kitchen until she was right in front of him. “You don’t see it, do you?”

 

“See what?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

 

“You don’t see the way he- You know what?  For once, I don’t think I should say.”

 

“Emily!” Greg groaned as she stepped away from him.

 

“Nope.” She shook her head, brown hair whipping around in its ponytail and hitting her cheek briefly. “You’re smarter than this, Greggie.  I can’t believe you have such a blind spot for all this.  But I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”

 

“What are you  _ talking  _ about?”

 

“If you seriously don’t figure it out on your own by the time you’re leaving to go back to London, maybe I’ll tell you,” Emily said, walking away from him and glancing in the sitting room where they could hear sounds of Robyn watching something on the telly. 

 

_ Tell me what _ Greg wanted to ask, but he knew there would be no use.  It was obvious whatever Emily was talking about, she was going to remain rather tight-lipped about it.  He grimaced, turning a bit so he could pick his water back up.

 

“Maybe,” Emily tacked on one final time, before leaving the kitchen and leaving Greg exasperated and confused.

 

* * *

 

“Children, in the kitchen with me,” Pierre announced upon walking into the house later that evening.  Greg glanced up from where they were all in the sitting room, Emily already standing.  He flashed Mycroft an apologetic smile as he stood as well.

 

“Duty calls,” he announced softly, stretching his hands up over his head with a soft grunt.

 

“Well alright then,” Annabeth said in fake dramatics, wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders, who blinked in surprise at the sudden touch. “Looks like we’re left to entertain ourselves again tonight, très cher ( _ my dear _ ).”

 

“I am sure we will manage,” Greg heard Mycroft say lightly as he left the room with one final glance over his shoulder.

 

Pierre had already set out a variety of ingredients and was standing next to the stove, piecing together something Greg couldn’t quite see.  He and Emily exchanged glances before wandering to different areas as they waited for instruction.  This had been a common thing as they’d been growing up.  All the kids were taught how to cook at a very early age, and once they were old enough to navigate the kitchen expertly, dinner prep was split evenly between whoever Pierre decided he wanted by his side on a given evening. 

 

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” he asked, placing his hands on the edge of the counter.  His father didn’t respond at first, while Emily eyed him and shook her head, mouth quirked up in an amused smirk.

 

“Je ne veux entendre que du français dans ma cuisine, Gregory,” ( _ I want to hear nothing but French in my kitchen, Gregory,) _ Pierre finally said, every bit that stern voice that had always commanded his kitchen.  Greg kicked himself inwardly.  It had been a while since he’d cooked with the man and he’d forgotten about that rule.  There were some traditions Pierre had always insisted on upholding, and speaking his native tongue when they were in his element was one of them.  When food was being prepared, it was no longer just a kitchen.  It was Pierre’s and he was in command, much like in his bakery.

 

“Désolé papa,” ( _ Sorry dad, _ ) he apologized, running a hand through his hair.  Emily chuckled softly beside him. “Sur quoi veux-­tu que j'aide?” ( _ What would you like me to work on? _ )

 

“Les filets de poisson sont dans le frigo,” ( _ There are some filets in the fridge _ ,) Pierre said, gesturing at the fridge with his head. “Commence la sole meunière, s'il te plais.  Émilie, tu t'occupe des moules marinières.” ( _ Please work on making Sole Meunière.  Emily, prepare the moules marinières. _ )

 

“Oui papa,” ( _ Yes, dad, _ ) Emily nodded, rounding the center counter that a bunch of ingredients had been placed on while Greg made his way over to the fridge.

 

“Papa, tu sais que tu n'a pas besoin d'impressionner Mycroft en préparant tout ces plats classiques,” ( _ Dad, you know you don’t need to impress Mycroft with all this traditional stuff _ ,) he said as he pulled out the filets and set them on the counter.  He went to Pierre’s side and crouched down to retrieve a large skillet out of the cabinets, turning on one of the bigger burners on the stovetop. “Je vante déjà bien assez tes talents culinaires à la maison.” ( _ I boast over your skills enough back home. _ )

 

“En entendre parler et l'éprouver par soi même sont deux choses différentes,” ( _ Boasting is different from experiencing, _ ) Pierre commented as he sliced up a variety of vegetables. “Cependant, je ne cherche pas à impressionner ton petit­-ami.  Je m'assure juste qu'il profite comme il le devrait d'une vraie découverte de la culture française durant son séjour.” ( _ However, I am not attempting to impress your boyfriend.  I am just making sure he receives the authentic French experience he should be having while he is here. _ ) 

 

“Eh bien, ça ressemble à un effort pour l'impressionner,” ( _ It looks a bit like impressing, _ ) Greg shot back lightly, grinning as he added a bit of olive oil to the skillet.  His father glanced at him, eyebrows rising in a slight amusement that matched his almost identically.  It was easy to see where Greg got his facial expressions and his sarcasm from.  Sure, there was plenty from his mum as well, and his da kept it well hidden under his usually stern behavior.  But every now and again it cracked through, and the men were practically mirror images of each other.

 

“Oh, mais je suis persuadé que tu n’as  **jamais** essayé de l'impressionner grâce à ta cuisine, Gregory,” ( _ Yes, and I’m sure you have  _ **_never_ ** _ attempted to impress him in the kitchen before, Gregory, _ ) Pierre goaded.  Greg opened his mouth to respond but the words fell short, and he felt a blush come up on his face, which completely gave him away.  In reality, while he and Mycroft weren’t actually dating, he had definitely attempted to impress (and mostly he felt he had succeeded in it) the younger man with his culinary skills.  Pierre chuckled, his son’s reaction giving away the answer.  

 

“Je suis sûre qu'il essaye,” ( _ He totally does, _ ) Emily chuckled behind him, voice light and giving away the fact that she was grinning ear to ear.  Greg glanced over his shoulder and glared.

 

“Dans quel camps es tu?” ( _ Whose side are you on? _ ) he challenged, and she just beamed again as she measured out thyme and pepper.

 

“Allez, ça suffit les enfants, on se concentre,” ( _ Alright, children, time to focus, _ ) Pierre requested, but his voice was still light as well.  Greg was unable to keep from grinning as he cleared his throat and turned back to his skillet.

 

In the other room, Mycroft was silent and relaxed, sitting on one end of the sofa while Annabeth sat on the other.  Robyn was on the floor half-watching a programme that was on and writing in a notebook in her lap.  His gaze drifted towards the kitchen, where he could hear bits and pieces of the conversations that were taking place.

 

“They’re only speaking in French,” he commented absently, observing.  Next to him, Annabeth smiled.

 

“Yes, Pierre has a rule where he only accepts French being spoken while there is cooking going on in there,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Mainly just dinner, really.  He’s a silly man.”

 

“There’s nothing silly about it,” Mycroft commented gently. “It makes perfect sense.  From everything Gregory has said, he is quite a master in his field, as well as an excellent teacher.   It is only natural to request his native tongue to be spoken during such moments.  I see it as a form of respect, not only to him but also to his culinary craft and background.”

 

Annabeth watched him silently as he spoke, eyes soft and smile widening.  She turned her body to better face Mycroft, giving him her full attention.  Licking his lips absently, he glanced back towards the kitchen for another moment before looking at her.

 

“I can imagine that being an even more important behavior to have in a bilingual household,” he continued. “What with your background being so different from Pierre’s, having your children grow up speaking both French and English fluently, things like that must carry even more weight to it.”

 

“He would certainly love to hear you say so,” Annabeth commented, reaching over and patting Mycroft’s knee lightly. “It always has been a big deal, yes.  Especially since we lived in London for a time.  It was always incredibly important - to us both, of course - that they all spoke French just as naturally as English.  They even surpassed my own knowledge of the language briefly, Greg and his older brother Russell.  It’s much more difficult becoming fluent as an adult as opposed to a child.  Oh and they did love to tease me about it, too.  Knowing more than mummy.”

 

Mycroft smiled.  This was how he preferred to find out information about Greg’s family.  Anyone else and he would have found this kind of conversation tedious.  He supposed that was part of falling for someone, though.  Even in secret.  As unusual and slightly uncomfortable as this act they were putting on was, Mycroft doubted he would ever regret it.

 

”What about your family, Mycroft?” Annabeth asked after a few moments of silence.  Mycroft blinked, tilting his head slightly. “Was your home mainly English-speaking?  Your French is excellent.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, and nodded. “Yes, my parents are both English.  I, however, taught myself a variety of languages as I was growing up.  French was one of the first.  Overall, I speak thirteen languages fluently, with another five or six conversationally enough to make it through various meetings.  I can also read and speak two dead languages.”

 

“Goodness,” Annabeth said, awe clear in her voice.  It was a common reaction that Mycroft stopped batting an eyelash many years ago.  Instead, he just offered her as casual a shrug as he was capable.

 

“My brother and I are… unnaturally gifted when it comes to our minds,” he said.

 

“Greg has said as much,” Annabeth mused. 

 

“Probably not as graciously when it comes to Sherlock, I can imagine,” Mycroft teased, smirking slightly.  Annabeth laughed.

 

“No, no he can be quite more colorful with his language when it comes to your brother,” she confirmed.  Mycroft couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. “I’m probably getting him in trouble.  He does love and respect him, I can tell.”

 

“I am aware,” he nodded. “I can also assure you he is in no trouble.  Likely he has said similar, if not worse things, to me about him.”

 

Mycroft liked Annabeth.  She was a very warm, open person.  She reminded him of Anthea in a lot of ways, oddly enough.  The Anthea that people rarely got to see was also rather open and gentle.  Mycroft got to see that side of her, when they had the chance to be more relaxed.  If her background were different - less… cruel - Mycroft imagined she would be even more like Annabeth Lestrade.  She would have liked it here, he thought.

 

“I am so glad you could finally come,” Annabeth sighed happily. “My son wasted too much time denying me the pleasure of your company.”

 

“I am glad as well,” Mycroft commented, smiling a bit thinly, even as his chest tightened in that uncomfortable way it often did when it came to thoughts of Greg, and thoughts of what they didn’t  _ actually _ have with each other.

 

* * *

 

“C'est vraiment extraordinaire, chef,” ( _ This is extraordinary, Chef, _ ) Mycroft complimented as they had all sat down to dinner an hour later.  Greg glanced at the younger man sitting next to him, a soft smile on his face as he watched the genuine enjoyment on Mycroft’s face as he ate.

 

“Merci, Mycroft,” ( _ Thank you, Mycroft _ ) Pierre nodded, sipping his wine (a white had been chosen to fit their dinner tonight). “Mais je n'ai pas fait ça tout seul, bien sur,” ( _ The effort was not mine alone, of course. _ )

 

“Bien sur,” ( _ Of course, _ ) Mycroft repeated, nodding as well. “Gregory, Emily, everything is incredible.”

 

“Thanks,” Greg mumbled, rubbing the back of his head and trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.  He was always told that he was awful at taking compliments, but… he just couldn’t help it, he supposed.

 

“Yes, thank you, Mycroft,” Emily said, eyes shining as she leveled her gaze on Greg.  He pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to glare at his sister.  Not at the dinner table, with everyone else around.  Of course, if she was insisting on making expressions like  _ that _ .

 

Conversation was sparse, as everyone was focused on eating.  It was always a good sign that the meal was well received.  Greg was pretty pleased with how his portion turned out; his father always intimidated him in the kitchen.  Robyn was holding most everyone’s attention with her chatter in between bites, interrupted a few times as Emily kept her from speaking with her mouth full.

 

“Your filets are excellent, Gregory, truly,” Mycroft said softly, having leaned closer to whisper the compliment to Greg privately.

 

“How’d you know I did the filet?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrows.  Their shoulders pressed together as they spoke.  Under the table, Greg’s knee bumped against Mycroft’s thigh.

 

“I can just tell,” Mycroft teased, smirking as he straightened and went back to eating.

 

Greg made the mistake of glancing around the table after their exchange and catching Emily’s eyes again.  She was still speaking to her daughter, but the mischievous look in her eyes was all for Greg.  He wanted to groan.  It was bad enough how natural they had just been with each other, and how much he had to ignore the funny feeling settled in his chest as Mycroft's scent surrounded him.  Their heads turned toward each other like that, whispering gently, and all Greg had wanted to do was continue to lean in and brush his lips against Mycroft’s cheek.

 

The urge was more intense than it had ever been.

 

So yes, the  _ last _ thing he needed was his sister’s probing gaze, analyzing their interactions with her inside knowledge that things weren’t actually that way between them.  He loved his Ems to death but he would rather crawl in a hole than have her keep examining them like this.  It was already running the risk of driving him mental.  Struggling with keeping his true feelings a secret while pretending that they were actually involved was bad enough on its own.

 

When the moment came and no one was paying much attention, he looked at Emily pointedly and mouthed a very stern ‘Stop it’ to her.  She arched an eyebrow and grinned, before mouthing back ‘What?’.  Greg pressed his lips together, wanting to communicate something else, but his attention getting pulled away as Robyn spoke up.

 

“So are you like James Bond or something?” she blurted, her young eyes turned directly to Mycroft.  The younger man blinked, lips parted in surprise.  Greg’s eyes widened, and he bit his lip to force back the snort that wanted to bubble out.

 

“Robyn,” Emily hissed, but Mycroft quickly gained his composure and smiled patiently.

 

“Now what gave you that idea, Miss Robyn?” he asked, setting his fork down.  Greg watched curiously.

 

“You talked with grand-mère about all those languages and stuff,” she said. “And you’re wearing a fancy suit and work for England.  So you’re basically James Bond, right?”

 

This time Greg did laugh a bit.  He couldn’t help it.  Not only was his niece being incredibly adorable, but little did anyone in the room know apart from him and Mycroft, her words echoed his own teasing sentiments the time he had finally coaxed Mycroft into watching a James Bond movie with him.  Their eyes met, and Greg could tell Mycroft was thinking the same thing.  He smiled, getting a genuine one in return that made his heart threaten to burst from his chest, before Mycroft was looking back at Robyn again.

 

“Now Robyn, if I told you that… il faudrait que je te tue,” ( _ I would have to kill you, _ ) Mycroft teased, before winking at the girl, who erupted into delighted giggles.  Greg blinked.  Mycroft actually winked.  He had actually seen that happen.  That was the beginning of a side he hadn’t really ever seen from the younger man before.  He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Mycroft would behave similar with his own daughters.  If they ever actually met.  That was a dangerous train of thought to go down.  His thoughts and feelings were complicated enough already without adding that scenario to the pot.

 

Emily was looking at him again.  Greg could feel his irritation flare up and the desire to kick his sister in the shin was rising, but then there was something in her eyes that made him pause.  There was less of the amused teasing shine in her eyes and something… softer.  Something that made Greg blink.  He furrowed his brows slightly, tilting his head as they regarded one another.  Her expression turned a bit more flat, one Greg recognized as her signature “oh honey…” look.  He pressed his lips together, putting the pieces together in his mind, and turned his head in a barely noticeable head shake.  Emily’s eyes softened again as she pressed her own lips together, gazing at Greg in clear concern.

 

No one else seemed to notice the exchange, conversation flowing freely around them.  Thankfully Mycroft’s head was turned the other way, because if anyone were to catch on to their small movements as Greg and Emily held a silent conversation of their own, it would have been him.  Greg figured their parents had stopped trying to sort them out long ago.  Ever since Emily had been old enough to become thick as thieves with Greg, they’d had a knack for being able to read each other like that and know exactly what the other was saying without uttering a single word.  It was pretty great.

 

It became less great when the silent conversation refused to deviate from things Greg was forcing himself to ignore as much as possible.  Emily was worried about him, because she saw right through him and knew how it was all really affecting him.  She saw just how much Greg cared for Mycroft, and it was awful.  The younger man sitting next to him certainly wouldn’t return those feelings.  If Mycroft had a league - which was something he hadn’t had the guts to figure out yet, for a wide variety of reasons - Greg  **definitely** wouldn’t be in it.

 

Clenching his jaw and trying to ignore the tightening in his chest, Greg gripped his utensils a bit tighter than was natural and stared down at his food.   _ Damnit _ .  


	5. Chapter 5

As dinner drew to a close, Annabeth was practically dragged from the table by Robyn, who had declared she wanted her to be the one reading to her tonight.  Emily shrugged, grateful to be relieved of those duties for the evening, and leaned back in her chair as Pierre also stood and began gathering up dishes.

 

“Please, let me help,” Mycroft offered, beginning to stand as well.

 

“Merci, Mycroft, but do take your seat,” Pierre requested, shaking his head. “Gregory?”

 

Greg snorted and reached out, setting his hand on Mycroft’s forearm and squeezing gently.  Mycroft stopped, before sitting back down.

 

“You’re the guest, he won’t let you do the washing up,” he informed the younger man as he stood, whose eyes had drifted to the brief contact before looking up at Greg curiously. “Me, however?  I can never get out of it.”

 

With a quick flash of a grin, Greg leaned over the table and also began gathering up dishes, following his father as they headed back into the kitchen.

 

“It’s true,” Emily commented once they had gone.  Mycroft, who had followed their movements, turned to look at her now.

 

“Oh?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows slightly.

 

“Greg always tried getting out of dish duty when we were younger,” she continued, smirking. “He got pretty creative, too.  Never did any good.  He’d always get roped in - sometimes after threat of grounding, but… he would.  So he finally gave up fighting it.”

 

“Well that certainly explains why he never seems to have issue after we share a meal,” Mycroft mused, glancing back towards the kitchen again.  He had always assumed it had to do with his culinary upbringing, and when they were in his flat, the politeness of being a host.  That made sense, though.  So it certainly did have to do with his upbringing, but more at the insistence of his father than his own initiative.  The thought made Mycroft’s mouth twitch upward in a soft smile.

 

“So he does the dishes often then?” Emily prodded, eyes shining playfully, but she fell silent as Greg came back in the room to gather up what was left of the dishes.  When he reached for their glasses, she made a noise and shook her head. “No, leave those.”

 

Greg’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he left them on the table without question and picked up the last of the silverware, before leaving again.  Mycroft glanced at the three empty glasses that belonged to Emily, Greg, and himself.

 

“More wine?” he asked, gaze shifting back to her.  She just smiled.

 

“It’s a nice evening out,” Emily answered. “Bit of a breeze to keep it from being too warm.  Perfect weather to sit out on the back patio and have another bottle of wine.  Besides, Greg took you galavanting all over today, so I haven’t had much of a chance to get to know you.  Dad’ll go into the sitting room and read and mum will probably head on to bed to do the same.  So, just us normal adults.”

 

Mycroft hummed in amusement at her explanation.  She and Greg were certainly a lot alike.  It was no wonder the two of them were so close.  He could imagine it had always been like that between them.  She was the main sibling he ever really talked about and it was easy to see why.

 

Though, he also didn’t quite know how to feel about Emily getting to know him better.  Her version and his version of that task were certainly quite different, and Emily would hardly gain as much knowledge as she thought she might.  It was a game Mycroft was rather good at.  Even still, with the ruse he and Greg were under, it left him a bit restless about spending a large amount of time alone with his sister.  With wine.  It was a conflicting enough situation already, and Mycroft couldn’t keep himself from admitting that he was already much too…  _ comfortable _ with these surroundings.  

 

Back in London he could remain much more on alert and closed off.  It was easier to mask himself when he was in his element, and in control.  Here he felt like he was neither.  It was definitely not his element, and he feared he’d lost control the moment they’d arrived.  No one else ever made him feel like this.  With Greg he was so… caught off guard.  It was bringing out a longing that he had fought to bury years ago, and succeeded.  But now, he felt it slipping.  He still held a successful poker face, but he was beginning to get concerned that it would only last so long.  He was thankful their trip wasn’t any longer.  Two more days and then they would be going home.  Two days and Mycroft could readjust and successfully smother these feelings once again.

 

He hoped.

 

* * *

 

“So, and I’m not even exaggerating, he storms into my office all dramatic with his coat billowing about, carrying a dead goddamn animal - thank Christ he was wearing gloves - and plops it down in the empty chair in front of my desk,” Greg was saying, laughing as Emily gaped at him.  Mycroft managed a brief smile at the memory.

 

“A dead animal,” Emily repeated slowly. “In your office.”

 

“Yup, Greg nodded. “And this one over here didn’t even  _ flinch _ .”

 

“You were there?” Emily asked, looking at Mycroft now.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded. “It was hardly a new occurrence for me.  Sherlock used to bring animals into the house all the time when we were younger.  He was always an… adventurous child.  His experiments were the most important thing, even if said experiments caused his room to reek.  Death rarely ever bothered him.”

 

Glancing at the table next to him, Mycroft reached for his wine glass and took a drink, before returning it to the flat surface.  The three of them had come outside on the back patio once dinner was cleaned up, per Emily’s suggestion.  They were finishing off the bottle of wine that had been brought out with them while they talked about this thing or that.  Or, well, Greg and Emily mostly talked.  Mycroft chimed in briefly when they spoke to him directly or looked his way, but for the most part, he remained silent.  

 

He was uncharacteristically fidgety, which was also why he hardly held his wine glass if he wasn’t actually drinking from it.  He preferred for it to remain on the table where neither Lestrade sibling would have the chance to see how much his fingers were moving.  It was incredibly frustrating.  Mycroft was annoyed at himself for how much this seemed to be affecting him.  The atmosphere was relaxed and enjoyable, and he was feeling anything but.

 

“We’re out of wine,” he heard Emily groaning, and he glanced up to see her wiggling an empty bottle over her equally empty glass.  A strange wave of relief went through him.  Perhaps that could be enough of an excuse that he could head back into the house and away from this whole scenario so he could properly clear his head.

 

It was no such luck, however, when Emily was leaning over and poking Greg harshly on the knee, commanding him to go get another bottle.  Mycroft’s lips pressed together briefly as he watched the man sitting next to him nod and stand up slowly.

 

“Yeah yeah, okay, but I’m going to the loo first,” he grumbled, snatching the empty bottle and flashing Mycroft a huge smile that made his stomach flip.  Then, he was off, running his free hand through his hair as he wandered into the house.

 

The silence that followed was strange, and Mycroft shifted slightly, glancing down at his glass before reaching for it.  Emily was watching him calmly as he drank, causing the urge for Mycroft to just down the entire thing in one gulp.

 

“So, Mycroft,” Emily said after a few minutes. “This is really the first proper time we’ve had together, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said slowly, already seeing two or three ways this conversation could be going and a little unsure which was more likely.  It was disconcerting.

 

“It really is lovely to finally meet you,” she continued, a genuine yet strange smile on her face.  In a lot of ways, she was Greg made over.  Her mannerisms were quite like his, which made her easier to read, yet unpredictable at the same time because he did not yet know her mind.  Mycroft hated it.

 

“Likewise,” he commented with a nod when she didn’t continue, sipping more wine.

 

“I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” she finally spoke again, brown eyes shifting to the door of the deck.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow when she looked back at him with a more resolved expression. “Okay so I promised myself I wouldn’t be the cliche younger sister who sits you down privately and gives you  _ ‘the talk’ _ or anything, but.  Well, I guess I just can’t resist so bear with me yeah?”

 

“All right,” Mycroft nodded, setting his glass back down.

 

“These talks usually go the route of ‘Oh if you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ kind of nonsense, but I don’t feel that’s overly appropriate in this situation.  I mean, it is, because I will, but.  You two would actually have to be dating for that to fully apply, wouldn’t you?”

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened.  That certainly wasn’t what he had expected.  In hindsight, he really should have seen it coming, and that was the most frustrating thing about it.  It was really no surprise that Greg’s closest sibling would have realized they weren’t together, and it was just more proof that Mycroft needed to get back to London and sort himself out.  He hated how little of a handle he had on things here.

 

“Well,” he began, straightening in his alarm.  If she knew...  Emily, however, just shook her head and continued to smile.

 

“Please, don’t worry about it,” she waved him off.  He blinked, certainly not feeling any more relaxed. “I doubt anyone else has realized it, and I won’t be the one to say anything.  I just care about Greg’s well being, as I’m sure comes no surprise to you.  We’re also closer to each other than anyone else in our lives, so of course I could tell you two weren’t actually together.  I would have heard about it.  Anything about it.  I’m honestly surprised and a bit offended Greg didn’t think about that when he decided to rope you into coming out here with him.”

 

“He didn’t rope me into anything,” Mycroft said a bit defensively.

 

“That surprises me, honestly,” Emily admitted. “Because you definitely don’t seem like the type of guy who jumps at the chance to do stuff like this.  I know you guys are friends, for sure, but pretending to be dating and having to spend time with his family?  That’s a pretty significant thing.  After all, it’s not like you  _ actually _ care about him like that, right?”

 

Mycroft narrowed his eyes a bit.  He was getting a better read on Emily now, and it was clear exactly what she was suggesting.  Somehow she had gone and figured it all out.  He wanted to be surprised about it, now that he was facing with the thought of it, but he really wasn’t.

 

“I realize what it is you’re suggesting,” he said instead of answering, finishing off his wine and suddenly incredibly glad Greg would be coming back with another bottle.  He hadn’t had quite enough to drink to deal with this.

 

“Well I haven’t said anything to Greg,” Emily said instead of confirming what they clearly both knew at this point.  There was a strange relief at hearing her say that, and a bit of the tension left Mycroft’s shoulders. “But  **you** should.  Seriously.  The man is so incredibly blind when it comes to this but I doubt you are entirely the same.  You’re clearly a very smart man, and Greg has mentioned before how you’re even smarter than Sherlock, so I’m sure you’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

 

Mycroft had, but it was not something he really wanted to discuss.  There were times where he caught Greg’s eyes lingering on him, a strangely gentle and warm look in them.  There were other times where his gaze was darkened, all signs pointing to tense desire, and even more times where he seemed wistful.  Mycroft forced himself to ignore all of these.  He would be a fool not to know that Greg found him physically attractive, but to dwell on it would only bring up everything Mycroft had fought so hard to keep down.

 

“The way he looks at me certainly doesn’t mean-”

 

“Boy you are stubborn,” Emily interrupted, eyebrows raised in disbelief.  Mycroft huffed out a sigh. “I mean.  I’ve heard all about how stubborn your brother is.  I’ve heard all about how it must ‘be a Holmes trait to be so stubborn’.  But here I am finally witnessing it.  You are both ridiculous.”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to say something, but stiffened at the sound of footsteps coming a bit closer.  Emily did as well, turning to gaze at where Greg was sure to emerge any moment.

 

“If you stopped being so stubborn and let things happen without trying to fight it so hard then maybe you would both get what you clearly seem to want is all I’m trying to say.  I could be completely off the reservation and if I am, I’m sorry I’ve spoken out of turn.  I don’t know you, so I can’t say that you actually have feelings for him, and I’ve been drinking a bit.  That makes me just talk talk talk.  If I AM wrong, I suggest you make it clear you don’t care about my brother more than simple friendship and not give him any hope, because that could crush him.  But… If I’m not wrong, just...  Consider it, maybe,” she managed to get out, leaving absolutely no room for Mycroft to comment before Greg was walking back outside with another bottle.  Emily gave him a final, knowing look before turning to look back at her brother, wiggling her fingers as she reached out and silently asked for the new bottle.  After pouring herself some, she leaned over and offered the bottle to Mycroft, who gratefully poured himself another half glass.

 

It was disturbing how much insight Emily seemed to have, and just how closely her words resonated with Mycroft.   _ Consider it. _  He had considered it, years ago.  He had thought that if he got it out of his system he could focus properly again.  Something had always held him back, though.  Those looks he caught Greg making held him back.  His past held him back.  The complications of everything held him back.

 

_ Maybe you would both get what you clearly seem to want. _

 

Mycroft desperately didn’t want to think too hard about what she meant by that phrase.  It was fairly obvious she’d already revealed to Greg that she knew their relationship was a farce.  The two of them had certainly had some form of private conversation earlier.  When they were alone with her, they didn’t need to pretend…

 

...which was why when Greg spun sideways and draped his legs across Mycroft’s lap, the younger man almost jumped out of his skin in surprise.  His pale eyes darted to stare at him, wide with disbelief, which earned him a snicker and a shrug. 

 

“Wanted to be comfortable,” Greg grinned, picking his glass back up taking a drink of his wine as turning back to say something else to Emily.

 

Mycroft looked down at Greg’s legs.  It wasn’t the first time they’d sat like this.  Some of their movie nights happened this way, with one of them stretching their legs out across the other.  It was a familiar gesture, and oddly comforting while being equally nerve wracking considering the current situation.  Mycroft was suddenly very thankful for the new bottle of wine.  He didn’t necessarily  _ enjoy _ getting drunk (though he doubted he would off wine; if something stronger emerged that would be a different story), but sometimes it served a useful purpose.  Swallowing, he glanced over at Greg, who seemed none the wiser, and huffed a breath out through his nose before taking a significantly larger drink of his wine than he had been that evening.

 

The rest of the night was spent with Greg and Emily swapping stories about their childhood and telling Mycroft about all the absurd things they used to do.  Everything from 7-year-old Greg putting a diaper on 2-year-old Emily’s head because “ _ she needed a hat and she looked awesome _ ”, getting sick in the boot of their parents’ car (while managing not to explain how it was in the  _ boot _ ), to sneaking each other alcohol and cigarettes when they were teens.  Mycroft was grateful that the focus remained on them for the most part, and when Emily seemed like she was trying to get glimpses into Mycroft’s past, Greg always casually redirected her focus and changed the subject.  He would be forever grateful for that.

 

Closer to the end of the night, the relaxation that had finally settled back over Mycroft went away during a story where Emily had caused Greg to fall off a treehouse they used to have.  The older man had snorted and leaned over so he could point out the scar on his arm that he still carried to this day.  It was a scar Mycroft had noticed before, of course, but in their loosely tipsy states neither man really thought about it currently.  One minute Greg was talking about what had happened, and the next he was right next to Mycroft on the sofa, leaning over and stretching his arm out to point at the mark.  They were so close that for the briefest moment, as he swayed slightly, Greg’s hairs brushed against Mycroft’s cheek.  The contact jolted Mycroft, causing his back to stiffen and his breath to leave his body.  He stared, frozen, at the spot Greg was pointing out, but he wasn’t paying any attention. 

 

His heart was pounding, and he barely kept himself from exhaling loudly in relief as Greg leaned back some.  The relief was cut short, though, because Greg did not move to go back to his previous, reclined position.  No, he remained sitting right next to Mycroft, one leg still slightly draped over Mycroft’s lap.  Their shoulders brushed a bit before Greg stretched his arm out over the back of the sofa.  Emily was talking again, and Mycroft could feel Greg’s hand brush against the back of his shoulder on occasion as he shifted about.

 

This was seriously not happening.  Mycroft desperately wanted to groan in frustration that the older man would not  _ move _ .  He also could not bring himself to move away or allude to the fact that Greg was incredibly close.  So he remained in place, perfectly disguising all his emotions and focusing on the conversation happening between them.  As long as he focused on just the conversation, then perhaps he could better ignore the warm, accidental touches that were suddenly lighting his skin on fire through his suit.

 

* * *

 

It was near the end of that second bottle that Emily decided to have a cigarette before bed.  Greg held out his hand for one without hardly thinking about it.  Sure, he had basically quit smoking, but one every now and again didn’t hurt anything.  He really only let himself break the rule if he had been drinking or if he was so stressed from work he could barely keep himself from screaming.  Sure, it wasn’t the same as quitting completely, but he really couldn’t care less.

 

So, with his head just fuzzy enough to remain pleasant, he lit the fag and tossed the lighter back over to his sister, taking a slow drag and closing his eyes as he exhaled.  Emily was currently talking about the last time Greg had taken Robyn and Abby out to play some football, and how Greg somehow came back covered in more mud than both girls combined.  He snorted, smiling at the memory as he opened his eyes again and glanced around.

 

Mycroft turned to look at him, eyes connecting briefly before the younger man lifted his free hand and motioned a silent request for the cigarette.  Greg’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he blinked, but at yet another insistent motion, he gave in and leaned in to pass it over.  Their shoulders pressed together gently at the motion, Greg swaying just enough to use it as an excuse.  He watched as Mycroft began to smoke, curious at how the way the man held his shoulders changed after a few puffs.  It was almost like it was relaxing him more than he had been before.  Greg hadn’t really noticed the stiffness in the way Mycroft had held himself, but the change he saw now suggested that he had been.

 

He chimed into the conversation again easily, but never completely took his eyes off Mycroft as the man smoked.  Sure, it wasn’t the first time he’d ever seen Mycroft smoke - they had known each other for almost a decade now - but it was still uncommon enough that Greg found himself fascinated by the sight.  Chalk it up to that, the alcohol in his system, or Greg’s overall comfort from the evening, but the cause was ultimately unimportant as he leaned in and just… kissed the younger man.

 

It was an incredibly simple kiss; nothing more than Greg pressing his nose and lips against Mycroft’s temple.  He breathed in his scent, mixed with the smoke, his eyes closed.  Seconds after, he froze as the realization settled in.  He heard the other man’s soft intake of breath, clearly not having expected the action himself, and Greg suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself.  Swallowing, Greg shifted back in a surprisingly smooth motion, moving further away from Mycroft than he’d been practically all night.

 

His heart was racing.  What the absolute  _ hell _ had he just been thinking?!  Clearly he hadn’t been, but that was beside the point.  Greg’s cheeks were burning and his ears were ringing and the last thing he found he wanted to do was look up and survey the damage he had done.  He finally did, though, catching his sister’s eye first.  She was smirking, eyes widened just a fraction in what seemed to be excitement and surprise.  He wanted so desperately to glare at her.  He would, if alarms weren’t going off in his head.

 

He was vaguely aware of movement next to him, so he steeled himself as he turned to glance at Mycroft.  The motion had been the younger man setting his wine glass down, for it was no longer in his hand, and after a beat Mycroft turned to look back at Greg.  He blinked.  Mycroft was, of course, completely unreadable.  Well, minus the look in his eyes that made it clear he was also still processing what had happened.  Greg licked his lips nervously, his cheeks getting even hotter.  Mycroft’s eyes shifted toward the movement and Greg felt the pit of his stomach drop.

 

Suppressing a cough, Greg ran a hand nervously through his hair and reached over to snatch the cigarette back from Mycroft.  He focused on it, his heart pounding so loud it was almost drowning out what Emily began to say a few moments later.

 

“Well,” she said, Greg just barely managing to hear. “I’m turning in for the night before we open a third bottle and we do some embarrassing things.  Sleep well boys.”

 

She stood slowly, grabbing her wine glass and the second bottle, and gave Greg another glance before turning to head inside.  Greg couldn’t decide if he was grateful she hadn’t called attention to what had just happened (apart from the very subtle dig she obviously couldn’t resist, goddamn her), or if he wanted to beg her to stay so he wouldn’t have to face whatever was coming next.

 

In this whole thing, with all the closeness they’d had and the touches they had done to keep up their story, not once had either man initiated a kiss.  Greg wondered if they’d gotten close enough to doing so a few times, but they’d always managed to play it off so that it didn’t look unnatural or suspicious around everyone else.  It gave off all the intimacy they needed to portray the relationship they were pretending to have, but… they had never crossed that line.  Well, until tonight, clearly.  Greg was kicking himself inwardly for being such a sodding idiot.

 

Neither of them spoke.  Mycroft didn’t pick his wine back up and Greg all but forgot about the cigarette in between his fingers until it had burned down so far he could feel the heat threatening to burn his knuckles.  He cleared his throat awkwardly as he leaned forward to stub it out into the ashtray, and chewed on his bottom lip before finally forcing himself to turn again.

 

“Mycroft, I…” he started, pressing his lips together and glancing down at his lap for a beat. “Look, I’m sorry about that, I-”

 

“It’s okay, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly.  Greg blinked, swallowing as he risked looking back up at him. “With our ruse, mixed with the wine we have been sharing, it was a natural impulse.”

 

_ A natural impulse _ .  The problem was that it was  **too** natural.  That, and Greg couldn’t really use the excuse of their fake relationship because Emily knew they weren’t actually dating.  Maybe Mycroft didn’t know that, or more likely he did because it was Mycroft, but regardless it was not a very comforting statement for Greg.  Besides, he hadn’t told himself to kiss Mycroft to keep up the ruse.  He had just  _ wanted _ to.  He was tipsy and lord help him he had not only fallen for the man but he had tripped and crashed so hard he was seeing bloody stars.  This entire venture had been an awful idea.  He should have never opened his big mouth.  He should have sucked it up and dealt with his parents being overbearing about his lack of a love life during the trip.  At this point, it certainly seemed like the better option than what was currently happening.

 

Sighing, Greg pressed his lips together and stood.  He scratched at the back of his head and shrugged, glancing down at where Mycroft had remained seated.  He was concerned what would happen next, if anything.  Mycroft clearly didn’t seem unsettled about it, and the kiss was innocent enough on the outside, so maybe it was all fine.  Maybe Greg was overreacting because his feelings were a lot more jumbled and panicked under the surface.  He was paranoid, though.  What other instinct could possibly try to force its way out tonight?  He didn’t - no, he couldn’t - ruin their friendship.  It was too important to him, and it was definitely better than nothing.  So, he managed a thin smile and tilted his head towards the inside of the house.

 

“I’m… gonna go get ready for bed,” he muttered half-heartedly, spinning on his heel and heading inside before he could let Mycroft respond.  He detoured into the kitchen to rinse out his glass, before heading up to his bedroom without once glancing back to see if Mycroft was following him.  He honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to know one way or the other.

 

Greg was only in the bedroom for a few minutes before Mycroft joined him.  The older man had said he was getting ready for bed, but he hadn’t even made move to change into his pajamas yet.  Instead, he had just been sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his lip and chewing on his lip.  He glanced up when he saw movement in front of him, meeting Mycroft’s eyes briefly, before looking away again.

 

He was being ridiculous.  He felt embarrassed that he was behaving this way, as well as obvious.  I mean, Christ, if he didn’t have such strong feelings for Mycroft, his actions would hardly warrant this kind of behavior.  If it hadn’t been glaringly obvious before, Greg was a bloody open book now.  It was frustrating.  He felt his chest clench as Mycroft gathered up his sleep clothes and left the room again without speaking, going to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.

 

Sighing, Greg stood and ran a hand through his hair.  He decided to go on and get changed too before Mycroft came back.  Maybe he needed to go sleep in another room, or down on the couch in the living room or something.  He could always use wine as his excuse of either of his parents questioned him about that in the morning.  He wondered if that would be easier, or more comfortable for both of them.  Sure, there was that part of him that said he was continuing to overreact, but it was battling the flight response that was desperately wanting to kick in.

 

Before he could make up his mind one way or the other, Mycroft was back in the room again and shutting the door quietly behind him.  Greg glanced at him, sitting back down on the bed and feeling it dip as Mycroft joined him a moment later.  He could feel Mycroft’s eyes on him, but couldn’t quite make himself return the gaze just yet.

 

“Mycroft…” he finally began, before fading off and pressing his lips together, unsure exactly where his statement was going.

 

“Yes?” Mycroft asked after a moment.  Greg glanced up then, his breath catching in his throat as their eyes met.  Mycroft’s gaze was so piercing, and so  _ blue _ .  Maybe he was being ridiculous but they usually had more iced gray tones in them.  Right now, though, that was nowhere to be seen.  He blinked, swallowing nervously and trying to keep himself from gawking like an idiot.  His fingers twitched on his lap.

 

“Look, about that kiss.  I don’t want things to get weird,” he managed to say.  Mycroft’s listened patiently, eyes flitting across his face as he spoke.  Greg shifted, pressing his lips together tightly.  He felt stupid as the words left his mouth.  He was too old to be having a conversation like this.  The whole situation was ridiculous.

 

“Why would it get weird?” Mycroft mused, eyes narrowing a fraction.  Greg shook his head and shrugged.

 

“I dunno,” he mumbled, staring down at his lap again. “N-no reason.”

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft spoke.  Greg bit his lip, closing his eyes and bracing himself before forcing his gaze to lift again.  He turned and looked back at Mycroft, raising his eyebrows a fraction as he suddenly couldn’t find the words.

 

Mycroft parted his lips as if to say something.  His face was soft and surprisingly open, so it was clear that something was on his mind.  The wine probably attributed to that as well.  Greg noticed that when the man was relaxed, the usual cool, controlled mask would slip away.  That had happened a lot over the course of this trip, which had been… real nice.

 

“Nothing,” Mycroft finally said again, shaking his head.  Greg blinked.  He had no clue what to expect, really, but for some reason it hadn’t been that. He remained sitting, watching as Mycroft stood from the bed and pulled the duvet back so he could slip underneath and lie down, stretching out. “Goodnight, Gregory.”

 

“Night, Mycroft,” Greg managed to say, still feeling a bit stunned.  He wasn’t sure what he had expected.  Some kind of conversation, maybe.  It was a bit obvious Mycroft had wanted to say something.  Greg felt confident that he knew the man well enough to not misread that.  Plus, Mycroft had always been the kind of man that wouldn’t hold back, who would speak up when he felt it necessary and have whatever conversation - brief or intense - he felt was needed.  So either Mycroft had forced himself to say nothing, or Greg was really  **really** misreading things.

 

He couldn’t decide which option was worse.

 

It wasn’t until Mycroft had closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, back to Greg, that he snapped out of it.  He turned the light off before getting under the covers as well, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when sleep would finally happen.


	6. Chapter 6

Sleep, as it turned out, didn’t happen that easily.  When Greg finally woke the next morning he felt more exhausted than he had going to bed.  It also felt like his head was splitting open, which made him groan and roll over to press his face into his pillow, blocking out the painful sunlight around him.  He hadn’t drunk THAT much wine, not enough to warrant this kind of hangover, and yet here he was.  The universe really decided to hate him, apparently.

 

He was alone in bed.  Not surprising.  Greg’s chest tightened anxiously when he recalled the events of the previous night.  He’d made a right arse of himself, and he found the strongest emotion coming to his mind was mortified embarrassment.  Mycroft certainly hadn’t made a big deal out of it, but the two of them were friends, so of course he wouldn’t.  Especially not around his family, and not when they were pretending to be involved anyway.  That still didn’t chase away the heavy feeling of dread in his gut and the lump in his throat.

 

It was another ten or fifteen minutes before Greg forced himself to stop dozing off and get out of bed.  He was hesitant to seek out Mycroft, as he still had no clue how things would truly be between them.  He wasn’t worried about hiding it from his family, though honestly that was the least of his problems now.  He was the one who said he didn’t want the kiss making it weird between them, but he couldn’t help overthinking it all.  Sighing, he rubbed his face roughly and gathered up his clothes for the day (jeans and his nicer Arsenal kit), and headed for the bathroom.

 

The shower Greg took helped to calm him down tremendously.  He allowed himself the solitude and the comfort of the hot water beating down on his skin to clear his mind and not think about a single thing.  There wasn’t much a bath or shower couldn’t fix for him, even if just temporarily.  It had been a haven of his for most of his life, and allowed him to make his way downstairs feeling awake and refreshed.

 

The nervous flutter of his stomach returned instantly when he laid eyes on Mycroft in the kitchen.  The younger man was sitting at the island with a cup of tea, engaged in patient conversation with Annabeth, who was cooking breakfast.  The lump returned immediately and caused Greg’s steps to falter just a fraction.  Mycroft noticed, of course, sharp eyes flicking towards him the second he stepped in the room.  Greg chewed at the inside of his mouth nervously, but managed a small smile before turning so he could get a suddenly much-needed cup of coffee.  Mycroft returned the smile, doing nothing to draw attention to whatever he was observing.  Greg appreciated that.  Even though he knew he was basically an open book to Mycroft, it was nice to have at least one Holmes who had the decency to keep some of it to himself.

 

He escaped with little conversation, but not before getting a kiss on the cheek from Annabeth and being forced to taste the sauce she was currently putting together.  Pancakes with syrup wasn’t always good enough for his mum.  Nope, much like all the cooking instincts they all seemed to share, experimenting with the simple stuff was fun.  He reached out to give Mycroft’s shoulder a small, affectionate squeeze as he passed, trying to offer him a more genuine soft smile this time around since his mum was watching.  Their eyes locked, making Greg’s breath hitch and the lump that had left his throat to come back with twice as much force.  He swallowed a bit, both comforted and terrified by how much peace the simple gesture between them brought him, before slipping out and towards the back patio.

 

The urge for a cigarette was stronger than Greg would like to admit.  As he leaned against the frame of the patio, he gripped his cup tighter and chewed on his bottom lip absently, gazing down at the hot, dark liquid.  He sighed, letting his eyes close and his shoulders slump.  He had to pull himself together.  The situation wasn’t as dire as his brain was trying to make it out to be, so he had to stop acting like some lovesick teenager.  He wasn’t sober and he’d kissed Mycroft.  On the cheek.  

 

“What’s done is done,” he muttered to himself, sipping his coffee as he gazed out at the backyard.  There was no point in dwelling on it.  After all, it could have been worse.

 

Greg stayed out on the patio undisturbed for a good while.  Finally, as the smells of breakfast had wafted out for his nose to detect, empty mug in his hands, footsteps sounded and grew closer.  Greg straightened, running a hand through his hair and glancing over his shoulder to see Emily approaching.  He offered her a small smile, which she returned as she came to lean on the frame as well.

 

“Breakfast is about ready,” she said.  Greg nodded, waiting.  He knew her well enough to know that wasn’t the only thing bringing her out here.

 

“So,” she finally prompted after a few moments of silence.

 

“So?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows at her expectant look.

 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Emily huffed. “What happened last night?”

 

“Nothing happened,” he shrugged.  His sister gave him a blank look.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nope, not a thing.”

 

“You just… went to bed.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“No other contact.”

 

Greg shook his head.

 

“Did you even talk about it?” 

 

“Not really,” Greg shrugged.

 

Emily smacked his bicep.

 

“Oi!” he exclaimed, stepping back slightly to move away from her. “What was  _ that _ for?”

 

“For being the biggest idiot in the world, Greg Lestrade.  Good god, big brother, that was your chance!” she huffed, frowning in irritation and glaring softly at him.

 

“My chance to  _ what _ ?” Greg snapped, before quickly glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one inside had actually heard him. “To horrifically embarrass myself more than I already had?  To make things so awkward between us that I’d be lucky to just get avoided for a bit once we were back in London?  No thank you, Ems.  I’d rather force myself to get over him and move on then do anything like that.”

 

Emily stared at him, lips pressed together in a thin line.  Finally, she sighed through her nose and shook her head.

 

“Fine, Greg,” she conceded. “If you think that’s really what’s best.  I just-”

 

“Look, I know you just want me to be happy,” Greg interrupted, tearing his eyes away and gazing back out at the yard. “And I know I’m as obvious as anything to you, always have been.  But.  Emily, you barely know Mycroft.  While I appreciate you being there for me, you could be totally wrong.  Hell, I’ve known the man for close to ten years now and I can barely still get a read on him half the time.  If I really felt more comfortable about your hunch, sure, I’d go for it.  But I just… don’t.  Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Emily muttered, staring out at the yard as well.

 

Nothing was said between them for a bit.  Greg’s heart was thudding hard in his chest.  He wanted Emily to be right, he really did.  He wanted to be confident that she’d gotten a good read on Mycroft.  But she’d only known him for a few days.  It was close to bloody impossible that she did.  It wasn’t worth the risk.  Greg would most certainly rather continue to have Mycroft’s friendship than nothing at all.  Yeah, maybe that was the coward’s way out, but he just couldn’t.

 

“Let me tell you, though,” Emily said again after a few more minutes.  She straightened and started to turn, glancing over at her brother with a stubborn look in her eyes. “I may have only known him for a few days, but a man like that?  Yeah, Greg, he’s worth the risk.”

 

And with that, she turned and went back inside before Greg could get another word out.  He stood there, staring after her with his lips parted slightly.  He could feel a heat spreading in his cheeks, and he bit his lip before grimacing slightly.  The whole situation just sucked.  He sighed, setting down his mug and looking up at the sky, hoping to clear his head before he was ushered inside for breakfast.

 

Why had he put himself in such a goddamn complicated situation?

 

* * *

 

Halfway through breakfast, Mycroft’s mobile went off.  Greg glanced over as the younger man fished it out and scanned the message that was there.  Mycroft’s lips twitched a bit and he lingered on it, before turning the screen off and shifting his chair back.

 

“My apologies, but something has come up that requires my attention,” he said as he stood, folding up his napkin and setting it down on the table.  He glanced at Greg with the quickest sigh the older man had ever witnessed, before giving Emily and Annabeth a polite smile. “I am not sure how long it will be.  Annabeth, thank you for a lovely breakfast.”

 

Mycroft reached out and squeezed Greg’s shoulder, before nodding his head in thanks and turning to head upstairs.  As he disappeared, he was pulling the phone back out of his pocket and pressing it to his ear.

 

Greg recognized that look.  He wouldn’t be surprised if whatever this was about took up the rest of Mycroft’s morning and most of the afternoon.  He turned back to his plate to keep eating, unable to help himself but wonder what kind of potential crisis was going on back home.  Or, for all he knew, across the continent somewhere.

 

* * *

 

“Can they honestly not wait one more day?” Mycroft asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “We are leaving tomorrow morning and I would be coming straight to the office anyway.”

 

“No, he is rather insistent you meet with him today,” Anthea said on the other line, sounding just as irritated as Mycroft felt.

 

“He is aware you are acting in my capacity while I’ve been away, yes?”

 

“Yes, and he still insisted.  The Prime Minister-”

 

“Is a pain in my ass, is what he is,” Mycroft interrupted.  He glanced absently around Greg’s bedroom, thinking. “Alright, fine.  I will speak with Gregory and make the arrangements.  I will keep you updated on our travel progress.”

 

“My apologies, sir.”

 

“No, you’re not the incompetent one Anthea,” Mycroft muttered. “Email me the documents so that I may read over them before I get there.  What about the Secretary?”

 

“Wanting to speak with you about Operation Sunstorm,” Anthea said.  Mycroft could hear her moving some papers around.  He rolled his eyes.

 

“The name is ridiculous,” he said for the hundredth time.  Anthea snorted.

 

“Naturally so, sir.  The Secretary so loves the names, though.”

 

“Something I wish I was not aware of,” Mycroft smirked.

 

“So how has your vacation been?” Anthea asked after a moment, an annoying amusement and curiosity evident in her voice.  Mycroft grimaced.

 

“That is not pertinent information right now,” he said.

 

“I respectfully disagree, sir.”

 

“Noted.  Email me the information.  I will see you this afternoon.”

 

With that, Mycroft hung up before Anthea could get anything else in.  He respected her and of course had one of his closest working relationships with her, but he hardly felt the need to discuss some aspects of his personal life with her.  Especially when he didn’t have anything to report.  He was sure she would have loved to hear about the impulsive, likely wine-propelled kiss on the cheek, but it was hardly something worth discussing.

 

His lack of conversation about it after would likely be what she would focus on.  Mycroft hardly wanted to discuss that.  With a sigh, he set his mobile down on the bed and stood, walking over to his suitcase and beginning to pack.

 

He could hear Greg’s footsteps before the older man poked his head in the room.  Mycroft continued packing, though he did glance up briefly as he entered.

 

“Need to go?” he asked.

 

“I am sorry, but yes,” Mycroft confirmed, zipping up one of his bags. “Something has come up that cannot wait until tomorrow.”

 

Greg nodded, walking into the room and beginning to pack as well.  They moved around in silence, something Mycroft was incredibly appreciative of.  His mind was on work now, and it was something the older man had always understood.  It was one of the reasons they got along so well.  

 

“I’m gonna go tell mum and Emily,” Greg said once things were finally together.  Mycroft nodded, eyes not leaving his phone as he typed out an email reply.  Greg left the room without another word, leaving him alone again in the man’s room.

 

Mycroft pocketed his mobile and glanced around one final time.  He couldn’t help but walk over to the dresser to look at the pictures there again before they left.  He was unable to deny a particular fondness to the one of Greg as a teenager, standing proudly in front of the motorcycle.  The photo caused almost the exact same reaction as it had a few days ago, his mouth going dry and something in the pit of his stomach flipping as he gazed at it.  It was such a different sight then the man Greg had grown into, but at the same time, it was incredibly easy to see this bright, punky boy in the Detective Inspector he had come to known.

 

He sighed softly, running the pad of his finger across the top of the frame for a moment.  If things were different…

 

Dismissing that train of thought, Mycroft turned on his heel and began to gather together as many of their bags as he could manage.  He carried them downstairs, passing Greg on the way, who was going to get whatever remained.  They loaded up the car before coming back in the house for their final goodbyes.

 

Most of the discussion was held between Greg and his family, though both Annabeth and Emily insisted on some parting words with Mycroft as well.  Annabeth walked up and leaned in to kiss on either side of his cheeks, before reaching out and squeezing his hand gently.

 

“It was so wonderful meeting you, Mycroft,” she smiled sweetly. “Thank you for coming.  I hate that you must leave early, but I understand.”

 

“My apologies, Annabeth,” he smiled back politely. “It is unfortunate, but government work never fully sleeps, no matter how minor.  Please pass along my apologies and goodbyes to Monsieur Lestrade as well?”

 

“I will certainly do so,” she nodded. “Hopefully we’ll see you again soon.  Be safe heading back to London.”

 

Emily came up next, pulling him in for a quick, but unavoidable hug.

 

“Good to meet you Mycroft,” she also said, her voice soft.  Her eyes flicked towards her brother briefly, before looking back up at him. “Sorry if I ever stepped out of line the past few days.  I just want what’s best for my brother, no matter what that might end up being.”

 

Mycroft nodded, unsure of what to say.  Emily’s care was extremely genuine, and the woman was smart.  Smarter than Mycroft was willing to admit to most.  He nodded, adjusting a bag still draped on his shoulder, and leaned in to kiss the side of her cheek as well.

 

“It is quite alright,” he said truthfully. “I understand.  But regardless of anything, I will consider our previous discussion.”

 

They both glanced at Greg then, and while the comment was not definitive enough to give Emily any insight, she nodded and beamed nonetheless.  Mycroft supposed that was ultimately what she wanted to hear, though he wasn’t saying it just for her benefit.  He would be lying if he said that conversation would not stick with him for the next little bit.  An uncomfortable thought, to say the least, but those were the facts.  Her words weighed heavy on Mycroft’s mind, mixed with the other events of the evening.  Space and thought were definitely needed.

 

Mycroft took a step back as Greg said a few more goodbyes, pulling out his mobile to update Anthea on their departure and to have her begin scheduling out his evening the best she was able.  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he watched Greg pick up Robyn, who had bolted in to get her goodbye in, giggling loudly as her uncle spun her around in the air.  He, in turn, received a breathless and shy goodbye from her as well, and then they headed out of the house and loaded up in the car.

 

“Thanks,” Greg said softly once they were on the road. “For everything these past few days.”

 

Mycroft glanced up from his mobile to look at him.  The older man just gave him a quick glance and soft smile before turning back to the road, so Mycroft just nodded.

 

“Of course.”

* * *

The drive home was mostly silent, apart from when Mycroft had to have phone conversations about one thing or another.  Greg was baffled and impressed by how much the man could get done over the phone while also not giving away everything that was being said to whoever was within ear shot.  Greg could get a few ideas based on what he knew, but overall, he had no clue what was pulling Mycroft back to the office early.

 

They made a stop or two for gas and restroom breaks, and as soon as they arrived back in London, Greg took Mycroft straight to his.  His offer to help carry anything into his flat was politely denied.

 

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft said as he leaned down to glance through the window. “I apologize for having to cut our trip short.  I’ll make it up to you soon.  Perhaps we can do dinner sometime in the next few weeks.”

 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Greg nodded, rubbing his thumb absently along the steering wheel.  Mycroft nodded.

 

“I will call you and we’ll arrange it.  Goodnight, Gregory.”

 

“Night, Mycroft,” Greg called. “Good luck storming whatever castle you have to conquer this week.”

 

That brought a chuckle from Mycroft, who lifted his hand in a final farewell before he disappeared into his flat.  Greg sat there for a moment more, not entirely sure what he was waiting on, before he huffed out a sigh and headed home.

 

* * *

 

His flat felt empty.  Greg was hardly ever one to get caught up on the way his life was.  Sure, he felt loneliness (especially right after his divorce), but he didn’t let himself dwell on it much.  This was usually achieved by burying himself in his work.  Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but it worked for him.

 

Tonight he felt that emptiness, that loneliness.  He dropped his suitcase next to the bedroom door with a sigh, before wandering through the flat and collapsing on his sofa.  He considered cutting his holiday time short and going in tomorrow morning.  He hadn’t been bothered with any issues, which meant Sally was handling things well without him.  It was both a relief and a frustration.  It would have given him an excuse to go on in, but he had a feeling that if he did, Sally would push him right back out and tell him to go home.

 

Greg was glad that he got to visit his family again, and he enjoyed the time he got to spend with Mycroft.  It was a double-edged sword, though, because the time he spent with Mycroft was also… painful.  Even though they kept up the image that they were involved impeccably well, it was also the biggest reality check he’d gotten since his marriage had failed.

 

This one, however, seemed to hurt so much worse.

 

* * *

 

Greg was still on the sofa the next morning when he woke up.  He sat up slowly, groaning at the stiffness in his neck when he moved.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the living room, and his body would most likely make him regret it for the rest of the day.  That in mind, he got up and shuffled into the bathroom so he could take a hot shower.

 

He wasn’t due back to work until tomorrow, but he really had no idea how he wanted to spend his day.  He didn’t, really, which was the problem.  It was ridiculous how off he felt, but he couldn’t get Mycroft out of his mind.  He’d always been drawn towards the older Holmes, sure, and once he realized he had a crush on him that had intensified quite a lot.  But now that he’d made the dumb decision to let himself experience a brief glimpse of the things that he had been secretly wishing for all this time?  It felt like shite.

 

Once Greg had finished and the bathroom was so thick with steam you couldn’t see the other side of the room, he got out and dressed.  He spent a bit of time unpacking and starting up some laundry, and then went out to .  That ended up lasting him up through lunchtime, so he made himself a sandwich and browsed through the afternoon news.

 

Most of the day was quiet, apart from a few texts from his mum talking about how lovely it was to see him.  It was the one that had come in from Emily, though, that distracted him from the football game he’d put on.

 

**You okay?**

 

Greg sighed, staring at the words on the screen.  His thumb hovered over the screen as he tried to think of a reply that wouldn’t cause his sister to call him immediately after.  He didn’t know how successful he’d be, but.

 

**Eh.  I will be.**

 

A few moments went by and no calls came in.  Greg let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when the typing icon popped up in the message instead.

 

**Let me guess.  Didn’t talk about it on the way back to London?**

 

**Are you mental?  No.  I didn’t talk about it while we were stuck together in the car for our trip back.  Talk about bloody awkward.**

 

**You’re so sure it would have blown up in your face.**

 

**Yeah, Ems.  Pretty sure.  Besides, he was working.**

 

Enough time passed that Greg was convinced she wasn’t going to respond, so he dropped his mobile down on the sofa and turned his attention back to the game.  Half an hour went by before his text tone chimed again.

 

**I wish you could’ve seen the way I saw him look at you a few times.  Maybe you wouldn’t have been so sure then.**

 

Greg grimaced.  He crossed his arms, leaving his mobile where it was.  He did not want to continue that conversation.  His day had been frustrating enough as it was.  However, his mind was fixated on what Emily had said.  He wasn’t watching the game anymore.  

 

The way Mycroft had looked at him?  It was driving him mental that he had no clue what Emily meant.  What had she seen?  He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and sighing, before reaching down for his mobile.  He unlocked it, staring at the message for a moment, before closing out and going to his photo album.  He had no clue what was causing him to do this or what he was really going to find, but…

 

Before Greg could second-guess himself, he pulled up the picture he had taken when they were in Paris.  He couldn’t have said in that moment exactly what he was looking for or what had compelled him to do it, but the photo was definitely NOT what he had expected.  He sucked in a breath, heart quickening as his eyes were glued to Mycroft.

 

He hadn’t noticed… HOW had he not noticed?  How the fuck had he taken that photo and not noticed that Mycroft wasn’t even looking at the camera.  He hadn’t noticed that Mycroft was staring straight at him.  It wasn’t just that, though.  If Mycroft had just been looking at him it wouldn’t have been a big deal.  After all, Greg had just spontaneously thrown an arm around the man’s shoulders right before taking it.  The surprise of the whole thing could have caused Mycroft to look at him.  But no, it was the  _ way _ Mycroft was looking at him.

 

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, eyes widening.  Greg had only ever seen Mycroft wear that kind of expression once in the time they had known each other.  Years ago, back when Greg knew him as Sherlock’s older brother, when Sherlock had put himself in the goddamn hospital by almost overdosing, Greg had seen Mycroft wear this kind of expression.  He had seen Mycroft as a brother for the first time that night, not a secretive political figure.  He had seen how much Mycroft cared for Sherlock, and how much pain he was experiencing sitting in a hospital room again, the younger Holmes unconscious and none the wiser.

 

His eyes… Greg bit his lip and zoomed in on the photo a bit.  Mycroft’s eyes had that exact same softness to it.  He saw adoration in the expression, as well as a bit of pain.  It was so similar to that expression he’d worn in the hospital, similar to ones Greg had seen after that when it came to Sherlock, once the two of them had become friends and Mycroft was more open around him.  It wasn’t the same, though.  There was a strange intensity to it that Greg could not explain.  He couldn’t rationalize it, but he just knew it was there.  

 

There was the smile, too.  Mycroft had the softest smile on his face.  There Greg was, cheesing like an idiot, and Mycroft was looking at him with such complete adoration that it made his chest ache.   _ Holy fuck _ .

 

Greg’s breathing sped up, his head spinning as the revelation came crashing down on him.  Was this why Emily had been so insistent?  Is this what she was talking about, what she had seen?  Did this mean that Mycroft truly did have feelings for him?  It was almost too much to process, and he had to shut his eyes and take slow breaths just to try and sort himself out.  He sat there for a while, turning over interactions in his head in a way similar to how he treated cases when new evidence came to light.  Retrace your steps, reexamine scenes and conversations, realize what you missed.

  
“Holy fuck,” he said again, blinking.  Mycroft Holmes had feelings for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for reading and commenting and just. Everything. Every one of your comments made me smile so much, even if I have not had many chances to get on and properly respond. I see each comment and each kudos and they all mean the world to me. This fic has been a labor of love and it took a lot longer to complete than I had initially planned, but it has been so satisfying and exciting to finally post and get out there to the fandom. I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have. Thank you. I <3 you guys.
> 
> And of course, huge thanks to saziikins and godaof221b for beta reading, and to iplaytheviolin for helping me with every single French translation found in the fic. So much love to you all for helping ensure that things remained accurate and coherent.
> 
> I think it would be fun, at some point, to post an epilogue. Or even a sequel fic. So my brain has things it is considering. Nothing is set in stone just yet, but I definitely feel the potential for more in this little AU universe thingie, hehe. So while it is the end, for now. It might not always be.

Greg spent the rest of the afternoon not texting Mycroft.  Countless times he would think  _ fuck it _ , grab his mobile, and start typing up something to send to the man.  Every single time he would get halfway through it, or read over what he’d hastily written, and delete it.  He even got to the point where he was attempting to come up with a casual invitation to dinner or coffee or SOMETHING.  Each one sounded dumber than the rest and they were all deleted as well.

 

Greg was getting frustrated with himself.  He had this pent up energy that he didn’t know what to do with and it was driving him mental.  He almost called Emily.  He decided against that too.  Evening hit and he felt like he was at his wit’s end.  He had to get out of the flat.  Maybe if he took a walk it would get rid of some of the energy ready to burst out of him.  It would give him a chance to clear his head.  Yeah, a walk it was.

 

Greg grabbed his light jacket and tugged it on, pocketing his mobile and his keys and leaving the flat.  He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, took a deep breath, and set off.  He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, really.  He never did when he took walks like this.  Most of the time they would happen if he was stuck real bad on a case, or when he had been stuck too deep in his own head after the divorce.  He just let his feet carry him along.  He knew London well enough that it was never much of an issue.

 

Mycroft had feelings for him.  At least, Greg thought he did.  He could be completely wrong.  There was always the risk that the intense feelings left over from their mini-holiday and Emily’s comments were shifting his perception on the whole thing.  That expression, though… Greg must have pulled that photo back up ten more times throughout the course of the afternoon, and he saw the same thing every time.  He saw true emotion there.  Friends don’t gaze at each other like that.

 

The problem was that saying or doing anything would be a huge risk.  If Greg was wrong, it could be catastrophic.  It could completely destroy the friendship they had built.  It could not.  On one hand, Greg could take the risk and trust his gut feeling.  His gut had served him pretty well in the past, and it was telling him that something could really happen between them.  On the other hand, Mycroft could reject him completely and shut him out.  That would hurt so much worse than any other scenario between them.

 

Greg chewed at his lip, staring absently at the concrete under his feet as he walked.  What the hell was he going to do?  He needed to talk to something about this.  If he didn’t, he’d go out of his damn mind.  He could call Emily.  She would probably be the best person to approach.  Sally was also an option, he supposed.  She’d been a pretty important voice of support after the divorce, and they definitely had a friendship built out of their working relationship.  He pulled out his mobile, considering his options, and glanced up to take in his surroundings.

 

“Oh bloody hell,” he muttered.

 

Greg quickly identified the problem with walking around absently while deep in his thoughts.  Usually he ended up at his favorite coffee place or over to Scotland Yard, and on occasion wandered around one of the parks his girls enjoyed going to the most.  Unfortunately, none of the usual places was where he had ended up tonight.  Instead, he had ended up at the goddamn Diogenes Club.

 

He stared at the white building with wide eyes.  He supposed it was a bit better than showing up at Mycroft’s  _ home _ , but not by much.  Biting his lip, Greg glanced around and weighed his options.  The smart thing to do would be to turn around and walk back home.  Maybe it would be smarter to take a cab home so that he didn’t end up at Crusader House.  Besides, the likelihood that Mycroft was even at the Diogenes right now was slim.  It would do him absolutely no good to stick around.  

 

“This is a pointless venture,” Greg muttered, eyes scanning the front door.  Even so, he took a few slow steps forward, gripping his mobile a bit tighter.  He let out a shaky breath.  What is Mycroft was here?  What if… 

 

“Detective Inspector?” a voice asked, cutting through his thoughts.  Greg just about jumped out of his skin, whipping his head around.  There was an older man, dressed in a ridiculously sharp suit, peering at him curiously.  He looked slightly familiar, but Greg couldn’t quite place him.

 

“Y-yes?” he got out, putting his mobile up again and turning.

 

“Mr. Holmes is in there, if you are looking for him.”

 

Greg blinked.   _ Oh _ , this guy was one of the men that had escorted him to Mycroft’s office in the Diogenes on multiple occasions.  The realization went away quickly, though, as he zoned in on what he was saying.  Mycroft was here.  Greg felt his chest tighten.  Mycroft was right inside that building.  Maybe he could just… pop in.  He could say hi, maybe stay for a drink, and go back home.  He’d done it plenty of times before.  It wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

 

He shouldn’t.  Fuck.  He shouldn’t have even come here.  He needed to turn around and go the hell home.

 

“Inspector?” the man repeated, tilting his head to the side curiosly.

 

“No, yes, um.” Greg cleared his throat and took a breath. “Yes, he is?  Good, that’s… good.”

 

“Do you need to-”

 

“Yes, um.  Yeah, I’ll just pop in.  For a moment.  If that’s alright.”

 

“Of course, sir,” the man nodded, brows furrowing slightly. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

 

“No, I’m.  I’ll be alright.  Thanks, though.”

 

“Certainly.  Have a good night, sir.”

 

Greg nodded and gave a polite smile, before turning and walking inside the building.  He’d feel like an even bigger idiot if he turned back now.  He was here, so he might as well just say hello and get it over with.

 

The silence was deafening as he walked through the halls.  He’d been here plenty of times, so it wasn’t like this was new, but adding that to everything else he’d been spinning through his head all day, it was affecting him more than usual.  He curled the fingers of his left hand into a loose ball a few times as he approached the shut door to Mycroft’s office.  His mouth went dry.  He stood there, staring at the dark wood for a few moments, and then nodded to himself before knocking quietly.

 

There was a period of time where he heard nothing.  He took a slight step back, making to turn and leave when he heard soft footsteps on the other side of the door.  He sucked in a breath as it was opened and Mycroft stood before him.

 

They stared at each other for a moment.  Greg felt like he was frozen, gazing into pale eyes for an eternity.  It was not an eternity, however.  Instead, it was only a second before Mycroft was tilting his head a fraction and taking a step back.

 

“Gregory,” he greeted softly. “What a surprise.  Come in?”

 

Greg nodded, swallowing as he walked inside the office.  He took a step past Mycroft, turning as he watched the man walk past him to shut the door.  Then, Mycroft was turning and opening his mouth to speak.  He never got that far, however.  No, Greg had one good look of Mycroft standing there in his black suit and red tie, and his entire plan of remaining calm and having a drink and leaving went out the window.

 

When Greg had been a teenager, he was told countless time he had impulse issues.  It had gotten him in trouble many times.  It was something he’d had to take more control over when he entered a career in law enforcement, and he had succeeded rather well.  His current situation begged to differ, however.  The act of grabbing Mycroft’s jacket tightly by the lapels, pressing him up against the door he had just closed, and slamming their mouths together was definitely a lack of control over his impulses.

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened in surprise as he was pushed against the door, lips parting (either to say something or in preparation to kiss back, Greg wasn’t sure which).  His hands came up, hovering in the air right above Greg’s shoulders.  Greg closed his eyes as their lips met and he pressed close, feeling the warmth of Mycroft’s body and practically falling into it.

 

A second passed and almost gave Greg enough time to let the panic of what was happening settle into his mind.  Before he could really react, however, those hands were grabbing his shoulders and Mycroft was kissing back.  Greg made an almost desperate noise in his throat, gripping those lapels even tighter so he could pull Mycroft closer.

 

Mycroft’s lips were soft, warm, urgent against his.  It was everything Greg had imagined and then some.  He gasped softly as Mycroft bit his lower lip, finally releasing the jacket lapels so that he could grab Mycroft by the waist.  The next thing he knew there were slender fingers gripping his hair and he was unbuttoning Mycroft's waistcoat, when they finally broke apart with simultaneous gasps.

 

Greg froze, hands trembling against Mycroft’s stomach.  His cheeks were flush and his mind was screaming not to look at the other man, so he couldn’t see whatever reaction he was having.  His eyes, however, remained glued to Mycroft’s face.  They darted back and forth, trying to figure out what was going through his mind, but he was as difficult to read as always.  Even with Mycroft’s hand still in his hair, the panic began setting in.

 

“Um,” he attempted, voice rough. “I-”

 

“ _ Gregory _ ,” Mycroft whispered, interrupting whatever he was about to say.  Greg’s breath hitched in his throat at the raw emotion he heard in his name.  Mycroft was suddenly clear as day to him.  His breath was heavier and he was practically clinging to Greg, keeping him from being able to step out of the position they had put themselves in.  He swallowed.

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“Shut up, stop thinking, and kiss me again, you infuriating man.”

 

Greg felt like his chest was about to burst.  His eyes widened and he glanced down at Mycroft’s lips.  An impatient noise escaped the younger man, who cupped Greg’s cheek with his free hand and pulled him in for another kiss.  Their noses bumped together a bit clumsily as they came together again, making Greg feel giddy.

 

Mycroft’s initial surprise was gone now, and this kiss practically made Greg’s legs turn to jelly.  It took a hell of a lot of effort to keep himself upright as the younger man’s lips pressed against his gently, fingertips brushing across the skin of his face and neck, running through his hair.  It was as if Mycroft was mapping every part of his head, memorizing his features.  Those hands soon slid down, running along Greg’s neck and collarbone.  He shuddered slightly at the sensation, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck.  Mycroft’s hands moved down further still, across his chest and down his sides, coming to rest on his hips and squeeze gently.

 

Greg’s skin felt like it was on fire, where Mycroft’s thumb was rubbing gently.  He wasn’t even touching him directly and it was making his head spin with want.  He broke the kiss after a moment, panting softly and blinking as he tried to wrap his thoughts around what was happening.  Mycroft watched him quietly, his own breathing a bit heavier as well.  

 

“You’re still thinking too much,” Mycroft whispered, breaking the silence.  Greg glanced up at him, feeling more vulnerable than he had in years.

 

“Yeah, well…”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes, a smile forming on his lips, and he tilted his chin to kiss Greg on the forehead.

 

“Would you like a drink?”

 

“Please.”

 

Greg took a step back and Mycroft slipped past, gently tugging on the older man’s shirt as he went.  Greg stood there, staring at the door, stunned.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to get some form of control over himself.  He listened to the sounds of Mycroft moving around the kitchen nearby, setting glasses on a countertop.  He swallowed and licked his lips.

 

Of  _ course _ he was thinking too much.  They had just  _ kissed _ .  Christ, they had been one step away from tugging articles of clothing off of each other.  Greg ran a hand through his hair, and the action made him shiver as he thought about the fact that Mycroft’s fingers had just been doing that too.  He touched his bottom lip gently, huffed, and slowly made his way into the living room.

 

It was only a moment after he had sat in his usual spot on Mycroft’s sofa that the younger man was walking in, carrying two steaming cups in his hands.  Greg straightened, reaching out to take the one offered to him when Mycroft came over.  There was a part of him that was disappointed it was not alcohol of some sort, because he certainly felt like he could use some to calm his nerves a bit, but he wouldn’t complain about the tea.  Bringing it up in front of him, he blew softly to disperse some of the steam, before sipping carefully as Mycroft sat in a chair across from him.  There was another brief feeling of disappointment, but perhaps this was the best way to navigate everything.  He’d already practically thrown himself at the other man.  Close proximity and “liquid courage” would probably not have been a smart combination.

 

At least one of them was using his brain rationally.

 

“So…” he finally piped up after a few moments of somewhat awkward silence.  Mycroft didn’t seem wrapped up in what had just happened, sitting calmly and drinking his tea.  However, his pale eyes had an almost mischievous shine to them when he glanced up.  Greg could swear he was smiling, but it was strategically placed behind his teacup, so he couldn’t say for sure.

 

“So,” Mycroft said back, taking a moment to glance to the side as he set his cup down.  Greg bit back a frustrated groan.

 

“See, now you’re just driving me mental,” he blurted out with a sigh, shoulders slumping.  Mycroft’s eyebrows lifted, and Greg set his cup down too before he risked spilling anything. 

 

“Companionable silence is something we have done before, Gregory,” Mycroft commented, folding his hands in his lap.

 

“Yeah, but not after we’ve just snogged like teenagers against your front door.” Greg folded his arms and huffed. “Yeah, that one’s quite new.”

 

Mycroft looked at him, his expression remaining neutral.  Greg  _ hated _ his damn poker face.  He could feel himself fidget under the gaze, licking his bottom lip restlessly.  Mycroft’s eyes followed the movement.  It made heat flare up in Greg’s stomach.

 

“So you would prefer… conversation, I assume.  Perhaps declarations are in order?” Mycroft spoke, still gazing at Greg’s lips. “An explanation, at the very least.”

 

“A start,” Greg got out, frozen in place.  His heart was pounding quickly, breath shaking as he exhaled and fidgeted under Mycroft’s gaze.  This was all a bit backwards, Mycroft sitting there offering an explanation.  Greg was the one that initiated the damn kiss, after all.

 

“Why don’t you start us off, then?” Mycroft asked, gesturing at him.  Greg blinked.  Ah, there it was.  It was only fair, he supposed.  Honestly, though, he had no idea where to begin.  Where  _ could _ he begin?  He glanced down at his crossed arms, licking his lips again and avoiding looking back up to see if Mycroft was still watching that movement or not, because he wasn’t sure he could take knowing the answer to that.

 

“Well,” he prompted, unfolding his arms to rub at one of his knees a bit.  All he was doing was postponing having to answer.  He’d seen these behaviors enough in people they had interrogated before.  Most commonly, he’d seen it in people that was obviously guilty and just delaying the inevitable. “You mean you don’t just… know?”

 

That was a bloody cop out and he knew it.  He knew that Mycroft knew it.  He risked a glance at the  man across from him, seeing a patient and slightly amused expression on his face.  He sighed and pressed his lips together.

 

“I dunno, I just,” he tried again, waving a hand in the air in frustration. “I just… Missed you?  It’s been a weird day, Mycroft.  Real weird.  Things felt a bit off and I really enjoyed our time in France and it’s all so damn stupid because I stuck my foot in my mouth the moment I invited you out there with me under that guise because I knew, I  _ knew _ it was a bad idea-”

 

“ _ Gregory _ ,” Mycroft interrupted, cutting off the ramble Greg had quickly fallen into.  His mouth snapped shut and he just breathed for a moment.  Yeah, he desperately wanted something alcoholic to drink.  He was making a right fool out of himself.

 

He watched as Mycroft shifted, and then stood.  His heart practically jumped into his throat and he absolutely could not breathe, brown eyes widening as Mycroft walked over and sat down next to him.  He was frozen in place.  Mycroft’s expression was… soft.  He was smiling a bit and it made Greg feel like his insides were melting.

 

“Gregory, perhaps you should take a moment to really take a look at all the information in front of you,” Mycroft said after a moment.  Their knees were mere centimeters apart and Greg felt so much warmer. “You are a very clever man.  The trip, the kiss, Gregory, just  _ think _ about it for a moment.”

 

Greg swallowed, but nodded.  The kiss.  Christ, the kiss.  There had been shock, yes, but Mycroft had kissed him back.  He had grabbed him and kissed back.  He’d kept him from freaking out and running away from what had happened, and Greg could swear Mycroft had been kissing him just as urgently as he was.  

 

The trip.  The fact that Mycroft had even agreed… They had slept in the same bed… Casual touches, casual conversation, and Greg could not remember a time he had seen Mycroft so content and relaxed for such a long period of time.  They had been keeping up appearances, but it never felt forced.  It felt comfortable.

 

“You…” he began, staring at their knees.  Why was he so fixated on their knees?

 

“If you really think I would so easily go along with such a ridiculous plan with anyone I considered a friend, you don’t know me quite as well as I might have come to believe, Gregory,” Mycroft said, clearly amused.  Greg looked up at him. “Even if we entertained hypotheticals for a moment and pretending to be someone’s boyfriend for their family wasn’t something I find absurd when it comes to anyone else, I would hardly offer to sleep on the floor for them or end up sharing a bed with them.”

 

Greg blinked.  That’s right, Mycroft  _ had _ offered to sleep on the floor.  It had definitely been something of a shock to hear the man say, and if Greg hadn’t been so overwhelmed by the decisions he had made up to that point, it probably would have given him more pause.  Now it was clear as day, as everything else seemed to be.  Mycroft  **never** intended to sleep on the floor.

 

“You said that just so we would share the bed, didn’t you?” he asked, lips parted over his revelation. “You wanted to share?”

 

“Well, I initially said that so you would stop agonizing over the situation and we could come to a quicker compromise, but as they saying goes,  _ when in Rome _ ,” Mycroft smirked.

 

“Oh my god,” Greg blinked.  All the pieces were fitting together.  He had been too caught up in being grateful Mycroft had agreed to come with him in the first place that he was totally blind to what was actually going on around him.  He’d seen clear enough evidence of that in the picture they’d taken.  Adding that expression to what Mycroft had just said, and holy shit.

 

“How long?” he dared to ask, looking Mycroft straight in the eyes now.  He needed to know. “How long, Mycroft?”

 

“Well, I have always admired you,” Mycroft began, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “You cared for my brother when no one else would - not even myself.  You made a swift impression on me, which not many do.”

 

“Yes, that’s all well and good, but,” Greg nodded, fighting back a blush. “You know what I’m asking.”

 

“I do, and I was getting to that,” he said. “It was respect for a while.  However, after about a year and a half, I started to realize it was more than that.  It was something I dismissed immediately, but it came back.  Each time I dismissed it, it came back with more intensity.”

 

Greg blinked, staring at him.  A year and a half.  They had known each other for close to ten years now.

 

“Holy shit Mycroft,” he blurted, gaping at him. “That long?   _ Seriously _ ?!  Why didn’t you ever say or do anything?”

 

“Caring is not an advantage,” Mycroft said deadpan, a phrase that had been etched in his mind for ages.  He glanced down at the cup in his hands. “It was not a road I was willing to go down.  I have cared before, and it did not end well.  I did not want to see that happen with you.  So I accepted it and pushed it down.  Besides, you were still a mostly happily married man at that point.  Yet even after that aspect was out of the picture, I did not want to risk it.  I would not allow myself to entertain the idea there could be more between us.”

 

Greg kept staring, completely baffled.  Mycroft had cared for him in some form for so long… and he had never noticed it.  He felt like a complete idiot.  He was also hung up on the mention that Mycroft had ‘been down that road’ before.  What road?  Had Mycroft been in a relationship before?  It wasn’t out of the question, of course.  He was a very attractive and intelligent man, and it would be foolish for Greg to entertain the idea that he hadn’t had entanglements of his own in the past.  He desperately found himself wanting to know more about that though, and about how it had ended.

 

That, however, was a conversation for another day.  They had a lot of other stuff to discuss before getting into that kind of minefield.

 

He took a deep breath, soaking in the information Mycroft had just provided.  He stared at his lap as he did, not wanting to linger too long on the man’s face.  He chewed at his bottom lip momentarily, drank some more tea, and then set the cup down on the table in front of them.  He took another deep breath, calming the whirlwind inside his mind, and looked back up at Mycroft.

 

“I would very much like to kiss you again,” he blurted out.  Mycroft’s eyes widened a fraction, and he blinked.

 

“You do not want to discuss anything else?” Mycroft asked.  Greg could see his cheeks tinting pink.  It was thrilling.

 

“Well yes, of course,” Greg nodded. “But it’s kinda hard to concentrate?  It’s a lot to take in.  And I’d just… really like to kiss you.”

 

Mycroft shook his head in exasperation, but he was smiling, and it made Greg’s heart race.  He waited until Mycroft set his cup down as well before shifting closer so that their thighs pressed against each other.  Greg turned to face Mycroft better, reaching up to cup his cheek, before leaning in and kissing him again.

 

This kiss was slower, calmer.  Greg could feel himself melting against Mycroft’s lips, and though his heart felt like it was beating out of his chest again and he wanted so much more, he found that he was quite content to just sit here like this for hours.  He still could not believe this was happening, but fuck, it was amazing.

 

Mycroft placed a hand on Greg’s side, shifting on the couch to press closer and deepen the kiss.  His other hand cupped the back of Greg’s neck, his fingers playing with his hair.  Greg shivered, the contact lighting a fire that surged through him.  He felt Mycroft smile against his lips, and he let out a breathless laugh.  That broke the kiss, but Mycroft pressed their foreheads together, and Greg sat there with his eyes closed, just absorbing everything happening in this moment.

 

“Christ,” he finally whispered.  Mycroft chuckled deeply, tilting his head and kissing Greg’s jaw.

 

“Mmm, seconded,” he muttered, turning his head, his lips brushing against the curve of Greg’s ear.  That made him shiver again.

 

“Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy?” Greg groaned, feeling heat flare up in his gut again.

 

“Potentially.”

 

Greg snorted, grabbing Mycroft’s face and tugging him in for another kiss.  The tension that had  built up in his body urged him to continue, to press the passion into it he so desperately desired, but he also didn’t want to push it.  They had only just sort of confessed shit to each other.  So Greg exercised as much self-control as possible, but even that didn’t stop him from tugging on Mycroft’s bottom lip with his teeth when they broke off the heated kiss.  The noise that pulled from the younger man made Greg light-headed.

 

Yeah, Mycroft was  _ definitely _ driving him crazy.  It was everything Greg had hoped it would be.

 

* * *

 

After more conversation, and a lot more kissing, Greg made his way home.  He was lost in thought as he walked (why in hell did he  _ walk _ ), unable to keep the smile off his face.  They had decided to give this a shot, whatever this was.  Neither of them came out and said they were dating, but… it was the start of something.  It had been a long time coming, that was for sure.

 

As he neared home, Greg pulled out his mobile and stared at it, before making the decision to text Emily.  So, he opened the message thread with his little sister, heart pounding as he typed.

 

**Well Ems.  You were right.**

 

She called him immediately, as he expected she would.  The shriek he was greeted with was loud enough he could have sworn he heard it FROM France.  He laughed regardless, patiently waiting until her “I told you so” ramble was over before explaining everything.

  
It felt good.  Greg felt happy.  Something that felt like it had been missing for ages was sliding into place.  He had no idea what the future held for them but he was looking forward to finding out.


End file.
